My Pet Goddess
by LoweFantasy
Summary: How did the prince of demons, once proud ruler of a godless world, end up as a demon-slaying, do-gooding barkeep in the modern day and age? Simple: dad gave him a pet that changed his heart, though that hadn't been the intention.
1. Barkeep

**Author's Note: I can't promise anything with this story. To those of you who haven't noticed my unlike-me updates lately, I've kind of gone crazy since becoming pregnant with my second child. I have no idea where this story is going. But I figured I wrote enough to give it a show.**

**So, enjoy. Or not. It's your parade. **

My Pet Goddess

by Lowefantasy

1

On the night he finally allowed one of his waiters to have an open mic poetry event, a silver-haired beauty slid into a stool at his bar. Usually, one would do a double take at the metallic gleam atop such a youthful face, but he had gotten used to seeing things that others didn't. To everyone else in the room, her hair probably came off as platinum blond or even just the more common late harvest, wheat gold.

But it wasn't her hair that made him sigh inwardly. She had the look. Not to mention she was alone. A lone young pretty thing at a bar looking like that usually meant extra work for him in the form of scaring off hopeful losers and predators.

Nonetheless, he had on his practiced smile as he slid down to her.

"What can I get you, Miss?"

She jumped a little. Yet another sign.

"Uh, um," she looked down at her hands in her lap. "I'm not much of a drinker. Do you have anything sweet?"

"Course. Shall I surprise you?"

She gave a weak little smile.

Something like déjà vu stirred bout his mind.

"Sure," she said. "No bananas though."

He mentally shook off the déjà vu. After seeing hundreds of generations upon generations of humans, seeing familiar faces was inevitable. If he didn't know better, he'd swear reincarnation was actually a thing.

"Got it. Anything to eat? Probably best if you're wanting a drink with a kick."

She looked over at the stage, where some sad native American looking guy with a beer gut had stood up behind the mic, holding a wrinkled bit of paper.

"Most of the time I can't be home, because I'm a truck driver," he said. "So I wrote a little something to remind me of home, or of those at home."

"Something easy," she said. "I…don't have much of an appetite."

"How does a ham and cheese sandwich sound? We even got some alfalfa sprouts and a special house dressing to go with it. And it's cheap, so it shouldn't hurt your pocket."

"Sounds great," she said, with another not-all-there smile. "Thank you."

"Hey, I'm here to serve."

With that, he crossed the space behind his bar to the door, which was one of those kinds that are cut in half so they have a separate bottom and top half that can be closed at different times. He leaned over the closed bottom of the door, shouted out the sandwich order, then sunk back to his heels once he heard the verifying 'yeah' from the cook. On his way back to her, he grabbed some fruit juice from the cooler and a smoother, more tolerable bourbon from the second shelf. Instead of grabbing a martini glass, though, he went for something with more of a belly. She did, after all, have that look, and a martini just wouldn't cut it. Part of a being a good barkeep, after all, was being able to read your customers, such as what they need and when they really, really should stop.

With a bright blue paper umbrella to top it off, he slid the colorful cocktail down to her, a mixture of slushie, juice, alcohol, and mashed pineapple.

"And here's your surprise, Miss. If you don't like it, just let me know. I'll make you up a different one, free of charge."

"Oh. That's very kind of you."

"Nah. You need it."

She looked up at him with something like surprise, as the less experienced drinkers were prone to do, but instead of questioning him, she took a tentative sip on the red straw beside the little, paper blue umbrella.

The tail end of the truck driver's poem came to an end to a faint—very faint—applause. Most of the customers who had cared to even listen hung to their drinks like a child to a pacifier and had little energy to spare to congratulate someone's wordy mediocrity.

The truck driver didn't seem to mind. This was a bar, after all, he was correct not to expect much. But he did end up on the other end of the bar, wrinkled paper gone.

"Yo, barkeep. Got any good old fashion rum?" asked the would-be-poet.

"Is the Pope Catholic?" he asked back with a wink. "What's your flavor?"

"I like that Caribbean stuff, with the mango or something."

"Makes you feel like a pirate, don't it?"

The trucker gave a low laugh. "Hell yeah."

As he moved away from the girl to fetch the order, the cook, a sharp-eyed guy with bleached gray hair hung a plate over the doorway.

"Oy, got that sandwich."

"Thanks, Ban."

"And I got the philly cheese for table three too." Red eyes glanced around. Another strange thing most besides the barkeep wouldn't see. "Escanor being thesbian?"

"Not yet." He put his sandwich free hand to his mouth. "Hey! Escanor! Your job's calling!"

The thin, almost diminutive ginger flinched where he had been sneaking to the stage and scurried over, hands to his chest—a nervous habit no one had had the luck to break yet.

"Is it the philly for table three?" he asked.

In answer, Ban held out a steaming, meaty plate. The cook's arms were so long, even the smaller Escanor didn't need to lean over the bar much to reach the plate. Despite his nervous appearance, he handled the food with deft, practiced hands and didn't so much as teeter on the way to table three.

By then, the barkeep had managed to get some rum in a classically beautiful brown glass to his trucker friend and was on his way to deliver the sandwich to the girl.

Unfortunately, she's already been joined, and judging by the look on her face, it wasn't invited.

The broad, slightly overweight blond man, probably in his thirties, leaned heavily on the bar beside her as he murmured whatever sad excuse for a pickup line someone with that sort of taste in plaid button ups could have.

"Here's your sandwich, Miss!" he said jovially, then turned the same expression to her unwanted guest. "It's probably best you left her alone, she's had a bad day and has a mean right hook."

Normally, those kinds of words wouldn't be enough to deter your average flirtatious drunk.

But, then, Meliodas wasn't your average barkeep.

Thus, the seedy blond man threw up his arms in surrender and shuffled away without another word.

She did a little grateful dip of her head, sending the lights dancing down her metallic hair.

"Thank you. Though you didn't have to lie about the, uh, punching."

"It wasn't entirely a lie," he said cheerfully as he pulled up various condiments for her from underneath the bar, just in case. "If he had tried anything, all you'd need to do is send me a look and I'd be that mean right hook for you. Though, granted, I'm left-handed. Probably for the best."

That got him another sad smile and another wave of déjà vu. "You're sweet."

"Just part of my job," he said, snapping up a fresh rag from his apron to wipe down the residual condensation left over by blond-and-desperate. The guy _had_ to be one of those—the kind that sweated no matter what their stasis, but even more so inside with booze.

"I hear stories of barkeeps like that. Though, I've never had the chance to meet one."

"That's because you're not the kind to visit a bar in the first place." At her shocked look, he gave her his most easy smile. "Part of the job, sweetheart. I can tell that much about you."

"Oh…is it that obvious?"

"Depends on who's looking," he caught sight of Escanor, plate free, creeping up to the tiny corner stage towards the microphone. "Oy! We got new customers at five, Escor!"

Escanor flinched and morosely melted back off the stage.

"Is he a performer?" she asked, a sandwich half part-way to her mouth.

"Also depends on who's looking. He's a closet poet and I agreed to let him have an open mic night tonight, granted he could stay on top of his job."

"Is he good?"

Meliodas shrugged. "I ain't one to judge poetry."

"Order up!" barked a droll voice from the kitchen.

Since Escanor looked busy with the new party of four, the long arm of the chef sucked back in and put the plate beneath the warmer. If Meliodas had wanted to, he could have delivered the order, but who would play waiter when there was a sad, silver-haired beauty to talk to?

"So," he put his elbows on the bar, settling his face in his palms. "What's got you dropping down to a place like this? Bad boyfriend? Existential crisis?"

Her mouth twitched, as he knew it would. "I'm…actually not entirely sure."

"So existentialism?"

"Not quite as broad as that," she said, the twitch turning into one of her first sincere smiles, albeit still a small one. "More like my job."

"Asshole boss?"

"Oh! No. She's actually really, really nice, especially for a boss. She takes really good care of us." She hesitated, biting into the sandwich. Her eyebrows furrowed. "At least she is to us on her personal staff…"

"So she plays favorites."

The girl nodded, once more sending lights dancing down her hair. Even a normal man would be able to catch that kind of shimmer, silver hair or not. Dang, and she just let that gorgeous mane sprawl down her back like a waterfall, only a hair clip over her left ear to contain it. Meliodas couldn't even pick up any hair products other than shampoo with his sharp sense of smell. Just her own unique womanly musk with a splash of something floral, probably some Herbal Essence brand.

He let her have some time to eat as he scanned over the room and checked up on the rum-hugging Indian. Escanor made it back to deliver the order and was already half running to the table, probably hoping to get a few lines in at the mic before more patrons came in.

He ambled back down. "Did she play favorites with the wrong person or is this, a… general mistreatment of the workforce?"

Her eyebrows furrowed again. She swallowed and took another sip of her drink. "That's what I'm not sure of. This is really good, by the way. The drink, I mean. Oh, and the sandwich."

"I'll let the chef know. Kinda strange you're not sure. Do you not have much contact with people outside of your staff?" And, because he had to put the disclaimer somewhere. "You don't have to tell me. I am being rather nosey. As a general rule some of the best barkeeps are." Also it was the easiest way to ward off the unwanted from thinking they could take advantage of her, pretty, sad, and drinking as she was, no matter how weak her drink was.

She pressed her lips together at that, and for a moment Meliodas though she would take him up on that offer. But then she sighed and put a hand to her brow.

"That's the thing. We have plenty of contact with the other workers as part of our job, and that's when…" she shook herself. "I just don't know anymore. I thought she just didn't like men."

"Bad experience?"

"Something like that," said the girl with another sip of her colorful drink. Somehow the little paper umbrella had ended up in the lone hair clip above her left ear. "All the people on her personal staff are women who don't have boyfriends, or even never had one. One of my co-workers says there's a rumor that she also makes sure we're all virgins, like some weird fairytale witch, and she's worked there for a long time, longer than any of us, but…" she gave a dry laugh. "See? She's that kind of boss. One people like to make up stories about."

Meliodas frowned, mostly to himself.

"That doesn't sound like any reason for a usually happily sober girl to come down here."

She paused mid-sip and picked up her sandwich again instead, something dark passing across her blue eyes. As she chewed, Meliodas refilled the rum for the trucker, dropped the usual by a frequent customer that had just arrived, and slid back down with a glass of water which he paired up with her mostly finished cocktail.

"Weird how discrimination works, huh?" he said, lightly. "You're a girl or a minority and you can say whatever you want. Be white or just male and all's fair."

She swallowed in sigh. "It doesn't make it right…and, well…"

He waited patiently as she internally debated with herself. By reading the slump in her shoulders and the light pink over her nose, he could already guess she was already getting a good buzz. Very lightweight. Her blue eyes shimmered with tears, and he gave another inward sigh. She'd be one of _those_ drunks. Best stop her while she's ahead.

"I think she may have murdered someone."

That made gave him pause, along with the almost inaudible way she had whispered it.

"That's some heavy stuff," he said, aiming for a middle ground between casual and a tone that said he was ready to take her seriously, if she wanted.

She brought her hands together in front of her, and for the first time he noticed how they shook and the almost purple pallor they held.

"It's common knowledge she's hard on the guys. But a few of them…a few of them I knew, and I tried to get in contact with them after they were fired to ask what happened, but they wouldn't answer. I didn't think of it much, but today…today…" Her eyes grew brighter. Her hands clenched together, bringing out her white, strained tendons against the violet and gray pale of her skin.

After a minute of silence, he picked up her cocktail.

"Refill?" he asked.

Her too-bright eyes flinched to him, but she nodded.

"It is good."

"Lucky try on my part. But this is your last one, kay?"

A thin smile. "Another part of being a good barkeep?"

He grinned, despite the heavy atmosphere she had brought. "Only one of the most important parts."

As he took her near empty glass away and gathered up the ingredients for another, his mind raced over his observations of her so far. Light drinker, at most, troubled, alone, pretty (beautiful, really), with a drop of something not human she may or may not know about, given that hair, a sweet tooth, and those hands…

Something had spooked her bad. You couldn't fake hands like those.

When he returned with the cocktail, this time a pink umbrella in it rather than blue, he didn't give it to her right away.

"It'd be best if you tried to finish your sandwich before going at this," he said, all apologetic. "Food on the stomach helps the alcohol not hit you so fast, and I can tell you're already on some side of tipsy. But, nonetheless, you are the customer, so if you really want it…"

"No. I trust you, Mr. Barkeep. Like you said, I don't have much experience with this."

He smiled and put the glass to the side of her, almost out of arms reach. "Meliodas. None of this 'mister' crap, makes me feel like I'm old."

For the first time, she met his eyes and he could feel her getting a good look at him, which gave him some chagrin. He wasn't exactly the tall and handsome type. Actually, he was rather short, most likely shorter than her, and with a babyface to boot. Some of the regular patrons still called him 'kid,' though it didn't take the younger ones long to learn that calling this barkeep kid when he was technically older than them wasn't the best idea. That got you on the floor, watching all the pretty stars.

"You have one of those faces that never age," she said. "For all I know, you could be old."

He had to smile at that. _So she had a good head on her shoulders too. Or, at least, she was observant._

Which made her talk of murder and disappearances all the more troublesome. While this wasn't the first time he'd heard confessions like these, it was about as rare as the next person could have guessed. One just didn't wander into a bar and start talking high end federal crimes. Especially those who knew anything about his bar.

"Alright," he said, calmly. "Dominatrix boss, disappearing dudes, I can get that. But what makes you think the big M is part of it?"

Despite having a mouth full of the second half of her sandwich, she reached for the cocktail at his words, the handshaking worse than ever. She managed to pull it over to her without incident though and took a long, sweet drag.

"My…one of my coworkers got engaged last week…" she licked her lips, not meeting his eye. "He worked on a different floor. But he got fired and vanished too, except…except she knows there's no way he would just cut her off like that, and no one could give a clear reason why he had been let go. She had the key to his apartment, though, but when she went in, she said…she said…"

"Mmm, lots of blood and gore?"

The girl shook her head hard, sending the little blue umbrella in her hair flying. He caught it deftly and slipped it back into place without her notice, though he doubted she'd notice much with the look coming on to her face. Her mind had gone somewhere else.

"All his stuff was being moved out by a moving company that told her the resident had died and all his stuff was being taken to auction." Her voice had become little more than a rasp at this point, and he didn't say anything when she took another long drag on her cocktail. "And—and she called his parents and…and they said they had never had a son by that name, and they acted like they didn't even know her too. They'd been dating for over two years. She'd gone to his parents house multiple times for holidays. And then human relations found one of those crazy drugs that make you see stuff and chew on your own arms or whatever in her purse and she got fired, so naturally I went to check up on her after work because losing your fiancé and then your job, but…she…"

He waited, still, keeping his expression as smooth as possible, neither to scare or encourage her.

"She looked at me like I was crazy." The bright eyes turned to him, and a lone, frightened tear went down her cheek. "Like I had taken those drugs in her purse. She said she had never been engaged and didn't know who I was talking about. She—she said men were just trouble anyways, and—"

Those slender, gray-purple, trembling hands clenched around her colorful drink.

"And m-m-my boss," the shaking had moved on to the rest of her body. "M-m-my boss…."

He saw it coming from a mile away. With practiced, lightning-like speed, he had the little trash can over the bar into her lap, just in time to catch the violent retch that caught her off guard. He shot a look at the heads that turned to her, willing them to look away. Like they had never barfed at the bar either. Even the newer patrons seemed to get his message loud and clear and quickly looked away.

"Escanor, cover me over here a bit, will ya?"

The waiter, who had once more been trying to sneak back to the mic on stage, wilted down, though the disappointment vanished as he saw Meliodas with his hand full of the girl's hair to keep it from falling into the trashcan with the vomit. Without another word, Escanor trotted to the Native American and the regular to tend to their alarm.

"She only had one and a half of those sweet things," muttered the Indian. "Is there something going on?"

"First time," said Escanor. "Don't worry, the manager has her."

And Meliodas did. He had even caught the little blue paper umbrella as she heaved and put it to the side. Her hair was as soft as he had predicted, satin smooth and cool as metal, if not as heavy.

Ban stuck his head over the half door. "Code three?"

"Let's go with that," said Meliodas over the sound of another heave. "Maybe four. You got a way home?"

Ban snorted. "Now you're just being mean. You're the one who needs a ride."

"My car works perfectly fine," said Meliodas, all nonchalance as though he didn't have his hands literally full of puking girl.

"Oh, so you got the phone books? Or is it a crate? Are we still talking cars?"

With more practiced, fluid-like speed, Meliodas whipped up a pen from his apron and speared it through the air like an arrow, where it hit Ban, several yards away, square between the eyes. The chef swore and withdrew back into the kitchen, while the regular and Indian gave an unsure applause, though they stayed quiet in case Meliodas had a pen for them as well.

Once she seemed to be catching her breath, he twisted up her hair and tucked it beneath the back of her shirt.

"Do you have anyone I can call to take you home?"

She shuddered, then shook her head. That also made him frown.

"Mind if I take you, then?"

She coughed. "I-I couldn't—"

"Just doing my job. Don't worry. And these guys here know to call the cops if they think I'm doing something tasteless, right?" He looked over at the two other patrons at the bar.

They instantly jumped, nodding. "Oh, yeah, sure—"

"If I even thought it—"

"No rapist in this establishment—"

Hoping that helped her feel safer, he carefully exchanged the trashcan for a thick, paper bag, which she kept her face bent over, despite the color in her face and an easing to her trembling. He unhitched the little door and walked out from behind the bar, leaving his apron slung over the counter.

"Come on," he put a light hand to her slender shoulder. "You can hold onto my arm. I've got you."

As quiet and obedient as a beaten lamb, she slid off the stool and let him lead her out the side door to the employee parking lot, which was little more than a cleaned out alleyway. He opened the passenger side of his old, green Chevy truck and handed her in. Thankfully, it was a toy truck, so he didn't have to lift her anywhere. She slid down and in as though it were any old sedan. Her feet kicked out an empty soda cup, which he disposed of so quick, he was sure had she been in her right mind he would have startled her. Forcing himself to move at human speeds became especially difficult for him in a crisis.

And she was a crisis. Everything he had observed made his instincts flail. This boss of hers sounded like she'd be making tonight extra long for him.

"You're gonna be okay. I'm taking you home."

The violent shaking of her head stopped him from closing the door.

"No. No, please no," she said hoarsely.

"Are you afraid of going there?"

She hesitated, then gave a very tremulous nod, which brought some strands of her silver hair from her shirt and past her blotchy face and shivering, wet eyes.

"Alright, then. Are you okay with coming to my place? If not, I can take you wherever you want. You have any family nearby?"

She shivered, crunching the paper bag. "Your-your place…is fine…"

And that bothered him. Yes, alcohol lowered inhibitions, but this girl was borderline hysterical. Being so quick to be taken to another man's house, and in the state she was in…

He took a tentative sniff of the air for the first time since he had sensed her vomit coming. High sense of smell and vomit don't mix, mouth breathing was a must.

He smelled fear. The raw, animalistic kind fringed with adrenaline and desperation.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Everything's going to be okay. I won't let anyone hurt you."

And once he had made sure her trembling hands could get the seatbelt in, he closed the door and made his way to the other side.


	2. An Uncommon Sacrifice

_In another time..._

Demons were many things. Liars, sadists, murderers, rapists, general incarnations of evil, etc. But if there was one redeeming quality they hung to, even if only so their disorganized chaos could be more effective in the suffering of the surface dwellers, it was that they kept their word.

Not that it meant much to anyone. Demons also specialized in loopholes.

So when a group of humans offered a desperate sacrifice of one of their own to open a contract with the demons, there was no reason to expect anything new. Usually, the demon king would have sent a lower caliber demon to deal with something obviously inane (please let our crops grow well and, oh, kill that neighboring village, they suck). But the description of the sacrifice stood out. Not an animal, virgin, child, infant, or even a criminal.

This little, out of the way village that specialized in weather prediction claimed to be offering a young goddess.

When this reached the king, as well as his three sons, all hell rang with their laughter.

The gods did not exist. Well, they might as well not, not since they had abandoned this poor world to its sinful ways near the beginning of its time, or rather, somewhere around the time they figured out the flooding of the world and breeding from a strand of good human didn't fix the problem. The Great Deity had simply built humans with an ingrain fault, for reasons that everyone knew, but few understood.

Since the surface had been rather quiet due to Meliodas, the eldest, had turned in from active duty to train to take his father's throne (which may never happen), the king decided to let said son observe the proceedings and make the contract, just for humor's sake. And, in the off chance they had somehow gotten a goddess, the eldest was the most prepared to deal with it. He needed a break of fresh air anyways.

So Meliodas rose up from the dank underworld to the weather village, invisible until he decided to be seen.

The usual ratty, scrawny savages dressed in sackcloth clothes met him. Pyres on either side. The demonic symbol burnt into the ground near a still pond thick with mosquitoes and scum.

In this way, they made a dark, dank framing to the burst of molten silver and white curled at their feet.

Curious to see what kind of human they had found to dress in precious white cloth, Meliodas drifted near, unbeknownst to the chanting, haggard priests.

"…oh great darkness who rules the deep, the bottomless, the shadow and fire, we offer unto you for a contract of prosperity—"

His feet, covered in shadow and clawed, touched down on damp soil that did not betray his print. He ducked down to peer through the messy curtain of peculiar, silver hair, when the girl suddenly turned her head to stare right at him.

One eye a brilliant blue. The other a bright gold, the pupil imprinted into a holy symbol he only remembered from his youth.

For indefinable expanse of time, they stared at each other. Once he realized he was holding his breath, he slowly breathed in and crouched down, still uncertain to what he was seeing, and it had been millennia since he'd had to question his own senses.

She was nearly as white as the linen dress they had adorned her in. Bruises marred her face, and her hands had been tied behind her back, where a bunch of white, rather ragged feathers massed. Wondering if they were just swan wings (some humans had tried that once), he reached out, ignoring her cringe, to pluck at the feathers. But rather than come loose with the smell of old, dead blood, a small, messy wing rose from her back, weak, crooked, and limp. Broken.

He eyed where the wing met the flesh of her back. All the while, her multi-colored eyes took him in as well.

"—oh great darkness-!" howled the priest.

"That's well enough," said Meliodas, allowing his voice, along with his presence, to be known. Like a tight belt had been removed, his pressing, cold aura dropped out, covering the congregations, snuffing out the stars and moonlight, and turning their pitiful flames into pale, yellow tongues of what they had been before.

He lifted the girl's other wing. Also broken, and in two places. Only then did he take note of the pain his action caused her.

This wasn't a god. No god would have been cowed and broken by mere mortals. Nor would a god allow their heavenly body to be so broken and pathetic, or rather, their bodies wouldn't be able to be such. If his memory served right, a god's body was like refined fire and diamond, which, in a god's natural state, radiated light like unto a sun.

But this broken, mutated thing didn't glow. She had dried blood on her cracked lips and her crippled wings wouldn't have lifted a toddler.

He reached out his senses towards her, looking for the falsehood. He was a demon, falsehood was his business. But even as he verified the tendons and blood connecting her wings to her body, he felt the light warmth, like a dream, buried beneath her flesh. Even as it stung his nose, nostalgia washed over him. Yes. This was something of his youth, when heaven still stood.

"Where did you find her?" he asked the human, who flinched rather comically on meeting the bottomless depths of his black gaze.

"She wandered in with an injured child," the ant managed to squeak. "Been healing the weak. Pays not heeds to our credence."

Meliodas snorted. Oh yes. The religious laws humans made up around him and his clan, thinking they somehow bound demons. But, like the demons themselves, such creeds were riddled with lies, half-truths, and those lovely loopholes.

But just to be clear, and to prevent any inconvenient misunderstandings…

"She isn't a goddess," he said, straightening and putting one clawed foot upon the back of the bowed girl. She cried out from the weight on her broken wings. "But she's got a piece of them. Other than that she is mostly human, although," he moved his foot to lift up her chin with his toes, getting another glimpse of those eyes. As he did so, he allowed himself to admit that, without the dirt and bruises, the face he saw could be quite fine. "She's unusual and interesting. What is it you are asking?"

The rows of bowed humans behind the priests shivered, almost as one. Meliodas raised an eyebrow at this.

"We-we do not seek the usual peace or fruitful season," simpered the priest—who looked even uglier compared to this mutant damsel. "We, all of our people, wish—wish to have power, a specific power. That only the demon race could give."

His other eyebrow rose up as well. This didn't happen too often. Humans thinking beyond their next meal? Maybe his brothers had gotten soft on this world in his absence.

"Which is?"

"Power, sire, over the winds and clouds. We wish to summon rain upon our allies and destructive typhoons upon our foes."

Meliodas threw back his head with the force of his laugh, which crackled the air and made several humans faint. The fires shrunk and died.

"That is the power of a god!" he cried. "Are you gods? And you thought giving us a god would allow you this privilege? Fools."

The priest, who had been taking on the press of Meliodas's dark aura and then his chilling laughter without bending, finally collapsed onto his face.

"Please forgive our audacity—"

"Audacity is the least of it." He looked back down at the girl in the grasp of his long, clawed toes. She met his eye without flinching, though the spirit he saw in that gaze communicated as much emotion as a sunspot on the water. Even the tears sprinkling her lashes denied anything.

"This woman healed your kind," he said slowly, just to hear it out loud—so delicious. "Served you, even, selflessly, and you beat her and offer her life up for a little bit of power?"

How usual of a species who killed their own creator.

The priests head sucked even more beneath his shoulders. "For the greater good, and if this power is but little—"

"Oh, shut up." He dropped his foot, leaving the girl to slump back down to the ground. "I will grant a kind of the power you seek to a worthy bloodline in your village. It will not be all that you ask, nor will it be something you can ignore. Blessing, curse, it will be your consequence to bear for your own wickedness. Let it remind you to never reach for the heavens again, especially not through us. We may be the gods of this world, but we are jealous gods. You're lucky I didn't kill you for even asking such a ridiculous gift."

The priest quivered. "Yes. You are most giving, lord. We are unworthy, we will accept your gift graciously, consequences and all."

"Of course you will," and with that, he reached down to scoop up the broken young woman by her middle. She was lighter than he expected and didn't fight his touch. Only then did he spread out his curling, shadow-fire wings and reach out his hand towards the lowly creatures.

Though not a simple spell, it was far from complicated. He picked a bowed human at random to focus the words and power. Until he decided or upon his destruction, any soul with that bloodline would find a kinship with the wind that would allow them to summon it, fall in love with it, taste the freedom of it, but never, ever be able to be lifted up by it. No. They'd be tormented by the sky, all the while knowing more clearly than any other human that they were of the dust, and just as powerful as the dust, never to fly.

Satisfied, he gave his spell one last look over before lifting off into the air and vanishing from their sight.

His father would be pleased.


	3. Deja Vu Girl

The déjà vu girl hesitated in front of his open door long enough to assure him she wasn't completely insane. Then, she kept a careful distance behind him as he turned on the lights and showed her to his couch, pulling off an old blanket that showed a Chinese dragon made of fuzz. One of those street side fuzzy blanket vendor deals. She also did some healthy hesitation before collapsing into the couch and allowing him to encompass her with dragon fuzz.

"You're going to be okay," he murmured as gently as he could, aware of how fragile she had become.

Leaving only a lamp on so as to keep some soothing level of darkness to the room, he went to the kitchen and started warming up a cup of milk with a few drops of honey. Since she had a sweet tooth, and this was the most natural nerve cure he knew—

Her voice burbled from the couch. He left the microwave to get into hearing range.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Thank you," she said, eyes still wide and to the floor.

"Nothing special. Just doing my job."

He caught a faint shadow of a smile from her before returning to a beeping microwave. He gave it a few stirs, then crossed the short distance from his kitchen to the living room, where he placed it on the nightstand closest to her.

"This should help settle your stomach and calm you down," he said. "Just some milk and honey."

She nodded to show she had heard. Her clasped hands in her lap had those white, bold tendons sticking out again.

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed, and sat himself on the coffee table in front of her. He already had an idea of what he was dealing with, but that didn't change the fact he had a beautiful girl who shouldn't be as alone as she implied having a break down on his couch.

"Don't worry about your boss," he said, leaning his hands off his thighs.

Her chin snapped up to give him an alarmed, incredulous look.

"She knows I talk to Margaret," she said. "She knows…the look she gave me today—and there was a car—"

"—that followed you from work?" he guessed, making her stare again. He shrugged. "Why else would you come to a bar when you're obviously not a drinker and are afraid to go home? It was probably the first public, crowded place you saw. You're car still there?"

She nodded. "I just sort of panicked."

"Figured. You work at that big-ass office building three blocks South, right? Intel or Sprint?"

"Intel." She blinked her wide eyes at him. "You're incredible."

"Just using my brain. Part of my job."

The tremulous smile she gave him said she was having none of that.

"You're kind of reaching neighborhood hero status," she said, reaching for the warm mug he had brought and bringing it to her nose for a sniff.

"And you're disturbingly trusting. Not that I'm going to do anything to you, but are you sure you don't have any friends or family around?"

Her nose lingered over the brim of the mug a she answered. "My family live three hours North in Main, and any friends I have, well, they work with me. I can't…risk them."

"That bad, huh?" But that was to be expected with this particular supernatural being, who also had managed to get her hands on a little power.

She nodded and took a tentative sip of the milk.

"So sweet," she breathed, and her eyes finally relaxed, drooping even. "It's okay. Somehow I just know I can trust you, Mr. Meliodas. I've, um, kinda learned to trust those feelings over the years."

The sound of his name from her gave him an involuntary shiver. Not the best sign for one trying to stay back as a neutral party. Though it did strike him as peculiar. He hadn't had much interest in women since, well, two hundred years or so. Yeah they were nice to look at and sometimes touch if he got the chance, but that's where his interest ended. To have just his name in her voice causing such a reaction…

Maybe he should have called someone else to take her home.

"I just realized, I don't think I got your name," he said, leaning forward and unintentionally catching a whiff of her hair, womanly and Herbal Essence.

"Elizabeth Liones," she said before taking a sip and practically melting back into his couch.

"Elizabeth," he repeated, deciding he liked the taste of it on his tongue. "Why didn't you go to the police?"

"It seemed a bad idea," she said between sips. "Something is off about this, and if she's as good at hiding it as it seems, I'd probably just get in a worse situation going there. And I was being followed." The mug paused at her lips. Then her face snapped back up to him, suddenly alarmed. "Oh my god, I didn't mean—I must sound insane and you—you even went out of your way to help me—"

He raised a hand. "It's cool."

"No, no it isn't, I can't be bringing you…" she put down the mug, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And before he could say anything about that, thick, river-like tears ran out from beneath her dark silver lashes.

"I'm so sorry, this is so wrong, I should have—I should have—"

"Not asked for help?" he asked incredulously. "Elizabeth, you came to my bar so scared you couldn't even think straight. You were so scared, you threw up, and I know it wasn't because of the drinks. Even a lightweight could have handled the minute amount of alcohol I put in them."

She put the mug back on the night stand and hid her face in her hands. "I still haven't paid you."

"Hush. It's nothing. Some juice and a sandwich isn't going to break anyone's bank."

She let out a shaking sigh that was half a sob, biting her lip. Without thinking, he pulled in the corners of the blanket about her more tightly.

"What…what am I going to do?"

"Probably pass out on my couch and wake up to face the day with a clearer head," he said, back to his usual chipperness. "Who knows? Maybe things will be a bit better tomorrow. Things change."

She just whimpered.

A rare pang ran through his chest, moving him to reach out and tuck that metallic smooth hair behind her ears.

"Just trust me on this one, and get some rest. Drink the milk, it will help, I promise."

She sniffed loudly. "When you talk like that, you sound so familiar."

"Well, I have been practicing my Bob Ross voice. Happy trees, happy trees."

That earned him a chuckle, albeit still a sad one. But she obeyed, returning the mug to her lips, her breathing a little shallow with hiccups.

He pushed off his knees and went to the front door.

"I'm gonna head back. You just get some rest, okay?"

She stared a little at that. "You're just going to…trust me?"

"I thought by now I would have impressed you with my barkeep intuition." He saluted with two fingers, flashing a cheesy grin. "Besides, I keep all my important stuff somewhere no one can get to. I fear no cute girls."

She flushed and quickly turned her attention back to her milk.

With that, and a twirl of his truck keys, he locked the door behind him and headed back down to the parking garage.


	4. Demon Prize

_In another time..._

Elizabeth drifted into the demon's darkness, numb. The throb of her abused body sounded like background with the steady rush of air and power, which sounded not too different than the flow of water. The arm about her could have been made of metal, for all the softness it held. This demon could have been made of stone rather than flesh.

As his wings beat them past barriers she couldn't comprehend, then red sky and dark hills, what she had seen of the demon crossed her mind. Surprisingly short. Bright gold hair. Soft features that could have been childish.

But that was where anything earthly ended. His features had been sharpened to an angry edge, mouth flashing fangs and dark promises, and his eyes…she almost lost her soul in those black holes. The muscles on full display about his body betrayed the soft child-like look he could have had in another dream, and was so unlike the thin, emaciated limbs that she was use to. Never had she seen a man so…well fitted and hale. Rather than radiating health, however, he radiated the same pressure a healthy dragons bared teeth would have given. Deadly strength, without an ounce of kindness.

But the blond hair and the stature…that had surprised her. Then again, this was her first time meeting a demon other than the little, possessing monsters that sometimes plagued the darker edges of the world.

The next thing she knew, his flat, clawed feet reached dry, dank soil, filling her mouth with dust-like dirt. He shifted with her weight as she coughed painfully.

The dirt turned to stone. A paved road? Black slate. Doorways. Many feet, of all kinds, murmurs, and more whispers of wind and power. An uneasy chill, as though the air couldn't decide whether to be inhospitable or merely cold.

She snapped back to attention when her sore body was dumped onto a thick, wine red rug.

"The goddess," said the demon to figures she didn't care to see. She could hear the wry mocking in his tone.

"What the hell is that?" asked another, a little higher and rougher than this demon.

"Did a drunk get too friendly with a pigeon?" cracked another voice, the grin more than apparent.

"No, there's something there…barely. At least what I can tell from here."

"Like I said: what the hell is that?"

"Beats me," said her demon captor. "They wanted control over the weather. So I cursed one of their bloodlines to have some say with the wind, but only enough to wet their appetite. They'll be jumping off trees and cliffs, desperate to fly."

"As expected," purred a voice lower, darker, and deeper than any of the voices she had heard yet. At the sound, her whole body shuddered and collapsed onto the hard ground. In that moment, she could relate to the humans who had passed out at the sound of a demon's laugh.

Cold as ice, paralyzed with unnamed terror, she looked up. The rug scraped along her already raw cheek.

From an awkward, sideways angle on the ground, she followed obsidian steps, reflecting the very red carpet, up to a throne of massive black marble of titanic proportions, which fit the monstrous man who sat in its curves. His body was swathed in strange, elaborate armor of varying silvers and blacks, but she couldn't make out his features beneath billowing waves of black hair and beard and the shadows they created.

But she knew the instant those unseen eyes fell on her. Her breath caught. Her muscles went rigid. Her heart stopped.

"That eye," muttered the giant.

"Thought you might find that interesting," said her captor.

"So she isn't part pigeon?" asked another, but she couldn't move her frozen eyes too look.

The eyes seared into her. Her head spun from lack of air. The dark black throne room swirled in, lifting the floor holding her body up, down, and over.

"A hybrid?"

One of the occupants of the room snorted. "No. No, that's…Father, you do know how babies are made?"

"Do not patronize me, Estrossa."

"Yes sir."

"But a god having sex with a human," said the other voice, respectful, but full of disbelief and disgust. "Forget taste, a human surviving through that…and then why…it'd be like a father made of lava impregnating his daughter."

The gaze must have lifted, for the pressure freezing her body abruptly lifted and she sucked in a burning rush of air.

"I don't much care what she is," said her captor. "She almost gave the humans hope with her healing miracles. I saw a liability, now she isn't. What do you want done with her, Father?"

She curled in on herself, turning her head to her knees and far from meeting the giant king's gaze. She clenched her eyes shut, just for good measure.

She didn't much care what she was either. She didn't much care for anything anymore.

After a moment's silence, the king said, "As long as she's not on the surface, I don't care. She's yours to do with as you will."

One of the voices, Estrossa maybe, made a low 'oooo' that ended in giggles.

"Shut up," said the higher, rough voice.

"As you say, my king." The stone arm scooped beneath her once more and lifted her up. Somehow, her body hurt worse than before, as though she had been laying on nails instead of carpet.

"If you're gonna toss her, can I keep the wings?"

"Estrossa—"

Her captor ignored them, making his way to who knows where off that blood rug.

"Her hair would make a fabulous scarf."

"Would you shut up already?"

A door opened then banged close behind them.

And Elizabeth let herself finally slip into unconsciousness. She most definitely didn't want to be awake for this part anyways.

She hadn't wanted to be awake for any of this.


	5. Broad Squad & Defenders of the 'Hood

He had Ban on his phone by the time he'd slid into the front seat of the truck.

"We got ourselves a neighboring succubus, buddy."

The hissing of the grill nearly overcame the line. "Eh?"

"You know, murder-by-sex crazed demon. Seems to know at least fourth tier mind magic as well."

Ban gave a low whistle. Another short burst of sizzling.

"Neighboring, you said?"

"Yeah. Supervisor of sorts at the Intel business down the street."

"Damn! Right under our noses!"

"Best place to hide," said Meliodas, checking both ways before pulling his truck back onto the street and towards his pub. "Like when you lose your glasses on top of your head or your phone in your hand?"

"Yeah, but I'd like to think it'd stink a bit more with a succubus. You're sure on the gender?"

"Yep. So you'll probably want to call Diane or Merlin in. Best we not try to tackle her with just us guys."

"Aw, shucks, boss, aren't I pretty enough for you?"

"Always. But am I pretty enough for you?"

"Eh, a little too much on the shrimp size, not to mention I'd feel like a pedophile."

"Thought so. Think you or Escanor can make the calls?"

"On your way back?"

"Yep."

"Pity. That one was cute. Did I see that silver hair right? That shit's rare."

"I do have my honor to upkeep."

That made Ban roar with laughter. Meliodas just smiled and hung up, focus back on the street.

He didn't live far from his business. In worse case scenarios he could easily walk home and back, and did when money got tight or it didn't make much sense for a healthy young man to not walk. So he wasn't surprised when he walked through the back door into the kitchen and saw Ban still talking on the phone, lazily flipping what looked like a grilled cheese something over and over in the frying pan.

Escanor must have heard the door, because he practically leapt back to greet Meliodas, half hanging off the lower half of the door.

"A succubus? A real, live succubus?" he squawked.

Meliodas raised his eyebrow. "Never took you as the masochistic type."

The ginger flushed, maroon clashing with his orange hair and mustache. "I-I-I didn't mean it that way, of course. How could you ever—"

"Hey, different strokes for different blokes," broke in Meliodas with a shrug. "But you're going to have to be if you ever plan on getting together with Merlin. There's your succubus right there, freaking sadist."

Escanor put a hand to his chest in offense even as he stepped aside for Meliodas to return to his position at the bar. They still had a long night ahead of them, but the crowd hadn't gotten too large. The rum drinker and the regular had been replaced by a gaggle of women right beneath the cusp of middle age. At least these he wouldn't have to watch so closely.

"Lady Merlin is a saint," said his waiter and understudy-barkeeper.

Meliodas just looked at him. He would have laughed so hard he'd pee his pants, but the sentence in and of itself was so erroneous, it went a step past pants-pissing.

"You take meds, right?" Meliodas asked.

Escanor frowned. "For what?"

"That mental condition of yours. It's showing."

The ginger mustache bristled, even while its owner shrunk into his bony shoulders.

The women, dolled up for the night like young things again, cooed at Meliodas as he did the show of making their drinks. One seemed to think she might have a chance with a younger guy and kept landing her large breasts onto the bar like a heavy-laden larder, but the other two at least knew they could have children close to his age. This didn't perturb him. You got all sorts of interesting characters, least of all himself. And, well, technically all three of them were much, much younger than him, even if he didn't look it.

Despite having specifically requested the girls, it was Gowther who appeared first at the bar, snapping open his laptop and fine adjusting his glasses on his face. Meliodas didn't question how the sometimes gender-confused man had picked up on the message. His way around software and the ever-present smartphones made him practically a mind-reader.

"Merlin should be a few minutes behind me," he said, then snapped his fingers. "A Pink Lady Martini, tout suite ."

"You know, it's not exactly kosher to boss your boss."

"I'm finding the line for assertiveness. Too much?"

"For this situation, yes."

"Understood." And, robotically, returned to his screen, the light of which filled up his glasses.

Meliodas didn't have to turn around from his martini making to see when Merlin walked in.

No matter how many of the customers were regulars, there was really no getting use to Merlin. Tall, black-haired, ambered eyed, it wasn't so much the overwhelming air of superiority that hit people first, but rather her, um, rather provocative taste in clothing, despite having never shown any interest in romance whatsoever. As Meliodas understood it, the display of skin was all part of her design to make sure everyone within sight knew who was in charge.

_I'm in charge,_ he thought blithely, not even looking up at the gasps and murmurs as he slid the martini next to Gowther. The not-quite-middle-age trio visibly wilted. The one flashing her chest load at him quietly slid them off the counter.

One of the stools creaked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw black and skin. She rarely shook it up.

"A succubus, Captain?" she purred, leaning a sharp chin into her palm. At least she had long sleeves, but that was pretty much all there was. The sleeves only met together over her shoulders, otherwise they gapped open over her ample breasts, barely enough to cover her nipples, forget the rest of her front. Meliodas couldn't see, but he could assume that beneath the mock cape on her back was a pair of booty shorts that barely qualified to be called shorts and thigh high leather boots. She did like her leather.

"Well, I'm glad you're excited at least," he said, pulling up a light beer from the cooler. She thanked him and popped off the metal lid from the bottle…with her thumbnail.

Oh yeah. Escanor had to be a masochist.

"You can't tell me you aren't excited either?" she said.

"I prefer to live after my love making, thank you very much."

Gowther raised his hand. "If we're looking into sex as a possible research subject with the succubus, might I suggest—"

"No," said Merlin and Meliodas as one.

Gowther went back to whatever had his attention, completely unperturbed by the cock block. Then again, not much ever perturbed Gowther. They were still deciding on whether he was an emotionless sociopath or not.

Diane summoned an entirely different reaction when she came in.

"Captain!" she cried, or more like boomed, from across the room.

Meliodas already had his largest stein beneath a faucet of ale as a woman who could be no less than eight feet tall skipped around the tables to the bar. Despite her height, she was delightfully well proportioned, giving her a healthy glow that others of her height seemed to lack. Humans were, after all, not meant to grow to such heights.

"Prompt, as usual!" Meliodas set the stein next to Merlin where Diane daintily sat, brown pigtails still swinging.

"So what are we doing?" she asked, all brilliant smile and bright eyes. "Swinging in, hack and slash, swing out?"

"Got to find the nest first," said Merlin. "Have you given Gowther the parameters yet, Captain?"

"You know you're talking really loud and right next to some valuable customers, right?" he asked, his practice smile extra rigid.

The not-old-yet trio had leaned closer together at the arrival of Diane. At his comment, they flinched and took a swig of their respective drinks as one.

"Don't worry, ladies," it was a regular who spoke this time, sitting down on the stool on the trios other side, broad smile towards Diane. "The D&D germs aren't contagious."

"Hey, Howzer!" called Diane with a happy wave, which was returned.

"Usual?" asked Meliodas, relieved nonetheless. Howzer was a clueless, college student, but he had overheard enough of their conversations to accept the excuse that they were just very serious D&D campaigners and not…what they actually were. Even so, when he tried to get involved, it did get rather confusing.

It was still funny to think that he worried about these sorts of things now. Better than worrying about nothing, though. He remembered that much about his old life.

"Once we find the nest, Diane and I should go in with the Captain and/or Ban. Or neither. Depends on how threatening this succubus is."

"I want to go," said Gowther plainly.

"Why not Escanor or King?" Dianne asked.

"Because they're as virgin as you get, and succubae are irresistibly drawn to the destruction of virgin men in particular."

"I think it has to do with the assumption that a virgin man is less likely to know how to turn down a sexually advanced woman than a man that's more experienced," said Meliodas, stuffing away a rag he'd used to clean up some spray from filling up Dianne's stein.

Gowther blinked. "You're experienced with women, Captain?"

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"I've never seen you show interest in women, let alone date anyone. And I've known you for quite some time."

"But you haven't known me since the beginning of time," said Meliodas with a toothy smirk, knowing no one but Merlin would take that sentence for what it really meant.

"I don't know, bringing Ban doesn't sound like a good idea still," said Dianne, frowning with both displeasure at the thought of her male friends being weak enough to be seduced by a pretty, murderous demon so easily.

"He's got Elaine," said Meliodas. "And mind you, he's a man after my own heart. Straying won't even cross his mind."

"You say that, Captain, and yet I have yet to see a man's loyalty being unaffected by an experienced enough succubus," said Merlin with a smirk. "The spirit is indeed willing, but the body is weak."

Meliodas just smiled back. "Butts and boobies are nice. What can I say?"

Dianne's frown grew deeper. "Maybe the Captain shouldn't go."

"Can I come?" asked Howser, who had moved a seat closer after the fleeing of the broad squad.

None of them acted as though they heard him. Came with having him ask that question whenever he was nearby.

"If anyone shouldn't go out of the two, it's Ban," said Merlin.

"I did not just hear you dis me out of a mission."

From that back, still in his apron and all, sauntered the pale hair, shark-eyed cook, who came to Meliodas's side.

"True, usually Captain can handle the worst of it," said Dianne, as though Ban hadn't just appeared.

"Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you."

"We heard you, Ban, but we have yet to even figure out what we're dealing with. Parameters, Captain."

Meliodas nodded to Gowther, who met his gaze through opaque glasses.

He told them everything he had garnered from Elizabeth, as well as what he had been able to infer from observation.

"The basis of a succubus's magic is in mind magics," said Merlin when he mentioned the fourth tier mind control and memory wiping. "But I will agree, that such a level of aptitude does speak of higher competence. But the more I think on it, the more I think only Ban or only the Captain should go. Should she get to one or the other, it would be better if we only had to face one opponent rather than two."

Over her shoulder, Meliodas caught sight of Escanor looking at her from the stage, microphone clutched in pale, probably sweaty hands, clearing his throat politely.

"Oh my friend, the deadly sin," he started. "Beneath your mantle of leaden night, I wish you well beneath lightened skies—"

Like with Howser, nobody reacted, the Meliodas listened with a corner of his mind, smiling inwardly. This was excellent material for teasing Escanor about his masochistic crush. Gentle encouragement hadn't worked, so of course he'd fall to the old dude friend strategy of humiliation as encouragement to get the girl rather than whine about it.

"I think I've found someone who might be her," said Gowther.

"Quick as usual," said Ban with a happy smirk.

"Yes. There is a certain employee with manager rights who has an office full of women, including I believe is this Elizabeth you spoke of?"

Gowther turned the screen around, and Meliodas nodded in affirmation when he saw the same silver hair girl he had just left back home. Granted, she looked a far cry more put together in this picture.

"I'm sure her address won't be a problem?"

"No. Though it will take a minute," Gowther paused to gulp down some martini like it was your average soda, then continued on typing.

"In that case, Boss, you and I have a decisions to make," Ban leaned back onto the counters, his usual lax and lazy posture hunching him over, though even then he was still twice Meliodas's height. "Me or you. Rock paper scissors or something more likely to inflict bodily harm?"

"Hey, I just finished paying off the cost of repairs for last time," said Meliodas. "Though rock paper scissors doesn't sound like as much fun."

"We could always find some cards," said Ban.

"Pfft, I'm not stupid enough to play cards against you."

"No magic stealing crap, just pure skill."

"Yeah, you say that now."

"If it came down to it, I'd rather fight Ban than the captain," said Dianne, glancing down uncertainly to the smaller, and more reveled, Merlin.

"I honestly don't care," said Merlin. "Perfect Cube doesn't discriminate."

"First to fart?" said Ban.

Howser, who had one ear listening this whole time, burst into laughter, as Dianne made a face.

"Gross! Can you not?" she said.

Meliodas smirked. "Yeah, this is a public establishment. Besides, I'd totally beat you."

"Oh? What makes you so confident? Got one already in the tank?"

"Nope. Just got a shorter digestive track than you."

"You seriously think your short stuff is going to help you with that?"

"Yep."

Ban rewarded his efforts with a light, but hearty, chuckle.

"You win all the girls with that one?" he asked.

"You know it!" said Meliodas.

"But I thought I already established that the Captain has no interest in women for the time being?" said Gowther, fingers still flying.

"You assume too much," said Ban.

"Yeah, besides, if I found a girl I wouldn't let her see hair or tail of you bastards until I knew for sure she was a keeper," said the barkeep cheerily, as though stating the plans for a birthday party.

"Sure you would," Ban said.

"I got it," said Gowther, voice flat as ever. He could have found a word in an old crossword puzzle.

He rattled off the address, which they each took out their phones to make a note of.

"For the sake of time, then, rock paper scissors?" asked Ban. "Lame, but it works."

"Might as well," Meliodas stuck out his fist and started the count off.

"Rock—"

"Paper—"

"SCISSORS!"

They laid out their finger weapons.

Meliodas won.

Ban groaned.

"Do I really have to work with Escanor as barkeep?" he whined.

"What's wrong with him?" Meliodas asked.

"I always end up having to come up here myself to end a fight or call a ride for a drunk. Yeah, he's dependable during the day, but these night shifts, man."

"It's a bar. It's mostly night shifts," said Meliodas.

"That isn't the point."

"Whatever you're point, I'd like to get this over and done with tonight," said Merlin, pocketing her cell phone…somehow. Where she found the space for a pocket big enough…

"Got plans tomorrow?" Meliodas asked.

"You could say that."

"Then I better hand over the gauntlet," and just in time, Escanor had finished his poem and his light, breathy applause had just ended. "Oy! Escanor!"

This would be fun. It had been a while since he had gotten out. And, by the sounds of it, the succubus in question had already done everything she could to live incongruously among society. Why else would she surround herself with women who didn't know the addictive taste of love making?


	6. Welcome to Damnation

**To those who haven't noticed, I've been updating this story two chapters at a time. So you might've missed some chapters if you just hop on and go straight to the latest chapter.**

**Peace ya'll. **

_In another time..._

Meliodas dumped his unasked for reward onto his bed. The floor would have worked as well, but no need to hurt the thing more. After all, having her die on him or break further would take away valuable stimulation to his otherwise unchanging, damned life.

He scoured her figure, making a list in his mind of what would be needed to upkeep this 'pet.' He felt when she had lost consciousness, which made this easier. He'd have to bind those wings (what need of demons for a healer?), find some sort of pillow or something for her to sleep on, and that white sack of a dress did nothing to bring out her womanly features, which, after a few weeks solid meals, would be quite pleasing. Seriously, how those humans managed to thrive quibbling over food like that, he'd never know.

But that kept them where they wanted them.

Finalizing his list, he went to the bell string on the side of his room and pulled. A blood red stone came to life besides it.

"What can I do for you, your highness?"

"Some sweet, easy to eat food would be nice. I also got a girl up here who needs a bath and a fresh set of clothes. Food's for her." He had better things to do. Not to mention seeing emaciated, unconscious woman flesh didn't do it for him. "Oh, and does anyone down there know how to set broken bones?"

"I'm sure we can find someone who has done that in their previous estate," which is what demons often called the life they had before coming to this plane of existence.

"Send them up to."

That dealt with, he returned to the bed to observe her more, wondering if that was excitement he was beginning to feel. She was mortal, he could sense that much. But so different…and did she really have healing powers? Not that that would be much use to him. While not a god, his body was still tougher than the dust-made humans and immortal to the extent that whatever power gave him his body didn't personally destroy him. But with that durability came a halt to any growth. He would never grow old, or develop any differently. He'd never have children. He'd never rise to another plane of existence. After all, that was the definition of damnation: not hellfire and brimstone, but an endless stop to progression.

Which made life very boring.

Well, she'd give him, what, at least a year of entertainment? Hard to keep track of time once you've been pulled out of an existence dependent on it.

"Silver hair," he ran a hand into it as far as the tangles would allow him. "It actually looks like metal, but its hair, all right. Silver. Would make some seriously interesting jewelry." Which he'd be able to do just about nothing with. But, hey, it was a creative outlet. Entertainment.

Within moments the servants had arrived at the door, bringing in a large copper basin to sit before the fire, that instantly came to life the moment the bottom touched the floor. A demon waved a hand and water from nowhere began to fill the tub, steadily adding more steam to the air.

Meanwhile, Meliodas watched as a young male demon approached his toy and directed him towards her wings.

"Your highness, these are—"

"Yes, they're real. And they need to be bound."

"I…I've set legs and arms on the battlefield, but never wings."

"Should be the same principal. Long hard thing in flesh needs to be aligned and braced. If you don't feel up to the task, I'll do it, but I'd like to go back and finish my studies for the night." Another precious thing to a world of damnation: knowledge. The only way one could ever improve, even if they could never gain the power or skills to use said knowledge. Just knowing gave one a kind of progression, even if, due to their state, there were many things they may never truly understand.

"Yes, you're highness."

Leaving it to them, Meliodas returned to the study he had inhabited for the past, well, who knows how long..

The old tomes, books made from much more than paper, piled to the shadowed ceiling in the tower. He looked to the fireplace, which lit up once more in an attempt to ward off the ever-present chill, and slid into the plush chair behind his desk. The last book he had been reading had been left untouched. Not even dust graced its covers.

_Unchanging_. He glanced over his notes, recollecting his previous thoughts.

But suddenly star schematics sounded as dull as basic addition.

He closed the book, already knowing what he wanted.

Spreading his wings, he took flight the top of the tower where books that were neither young nor old sat. Just already well known. Records of a past they'd all prefer to forget. Stories of the premortal life, back when the gods still created on this side of existence.

He slid out a thin, white tome. The material of the books escaped him, but it also held a metallic gleam like the girl's hair.

After picking out two more of the abandoned, light-colored books, he sank back down to the bottom of the cavernous tower. There, he pushed aside the mechanics and biology of stars and opened up the white book.

Though he knew the words, he had never actually read them, just as most of the demons down here didn't. It was just an unsavory reminder.

_…In the beginning of this world, Eternity called for matter unorganized to be gathered. In a pass of the stars, He ordered Earth and Water to be separated and gathered, like unto previous worlds. Continents, bare and rocky, rose, and the water became a mask like ocean to adorn her head. The face of this Earth came into being, young, untouched, unbeautified and raw…_

He tapped the edge of the page impatiently. He knew this already. God of Gods organized the making of worlds, whoopty, where came the part about those beings who found and organized the actual elements though? Those other lesser gods frequently thought of, but never to be actively worshipped? Demons weren't the only jealous gods, after all, or perhaps the creator, Eternity, thought it too distracting for the finite minds of the humans that would come to rule this planet.

As he expected, little was said about them. They merely carried out the orders and reported back to the boss, who would then review what they did and pass it off. For the first time, though, it did occur to Meliodas as strange that the Creator never sent back his worker bees to fix anything. Everything came out perfect the first time they tried. Was this a god thing or did Eternity/Creator specifically choose more capable gods for this world?

But, then, it made the abandonment of this planet all the more pathetic. Humans really were the spoiled flower child of the universe.

He moved to the next books which held detailed descriptions on the different variations of divine bodies. From the Celestial, which were the gods themselves with that diamond and lightning like visage, to those more like Meliodas himself, who varied in power just like the stars varied in light, never to be anything more. The mortals were kept as a disclaimer in the prologue, sort of as a piece of background knowledge. Mortality was just a state, after all, the most temporary and short of them all.

_So she has some light,_ he thought, scanning the pages for signs of the symbol he had seen in her eye, but finding none. _But she's definitely mortal. A mortal with light? And those wings…_

Wings were more symbolic than anything else. It was not a requirement of divine beings. Though the fact she had them did mean something, even if he couldn't put his finger on it.

Mortals weren't supposed to have inherit light. They gained it as they transitioned and their bodies changed—if their bodies changed up, that is, rather than just back to the dust it came from. So did that mean she was partially dead? Partially transfigured? Not entirely mortal?

By the time he got around to the third book to find the symbol, some considerable time must have passed, for the young looking war veteran knocked on his doors.

"She's finished," he murmured, his head bowed. "Will you be requiring anything?"

Meliodas flipped his hand and the servant left with a nod.

The thought did cross his mind to eat something. But, technically, he didn't have to eat. There was no purpose. He never changed. Eating just reminded one of living anyways, or was used in custom or ceremonies for comfort.

He did yawn, however. Strange that he still got tired despite being unchanged. Though his father mused it was more a state of the spirit than the actual body.

"Oops, forgot to order a bed," he said aloud, just to shrug it off and head out with his hands folded behind his head.

Oh well. Didn't make any difference.


	7. Seduction on the Skyrise

**Author: can't wait to have a baby on my chest instead of zits. Darn you stupid preggy-mones. But August 27th nears...almost there.**

It really was going to be a quick job, he thought, as Merlin directed him to a skyriser of city apartments a mile or so from the bar. Dianne, per the usual, rode in the back of his truck, her favorite mode of transportation. Yeah, illegal, but most cops got tangled up in trying to decide if having a girl that big inside a vehicle wasn't a greater crime.

Looking up to the forty-second floor, where their target supposedly lived, Meliodas let out a low whistle.

"Never ceases to impress me how tall these buildings can get," he said.

"Funny, coming from you," said Merlin as she closed the truck door behind her.

"I like it. It's nice being next to something that makes me feel so small and normal," said Dianne chirpily.

"Honey, you're the most normal out of the lot of us," said Merlin.

"You really mean that?"

"I can back that up," said Meliodas, folding his hands behind his head and all but skipping to the lobby doors. And it was true. Besides her size, Dianne had the most normal, healthy personality. She really was just a cute little girl in a big body.

"Wait, we're going to have to take an elevator aren't we?" she paused just outside the glass doors.

"It'll be fine!" called Meliodas. "It's late, we're probably going to be the only ones in there.

"And if you're that scared, I can always just levitate," said Merlin. It might have sounded like a more thoughtful offer if she didn't have that ever-present mischievous, 'everyone-are-just-potential-lab-rats-to-me' smirk.

"No...no I'll probably be okay," she said. "Really fat people ride them all the time, after all."

"Thus probably why they're fat," said Meliodas, chuckling. The giantess really was refreshing to be around.

Into the elevator. Though he could feel their velocity, it was a few minutes before the elevator came to their stop. He kept his hand on Dianne's elbow, which reached the top of his head, as they stepped out and it was obvious her knees were shaking. She turned grateful eyes to him, and he returned it with a welcoming smile. Despite the size difference, they both knew Meliodas had the strength to make his gesture more than just a thought.

The place didn't smell new, nor did it smell old, which meant the building hadn't been around too long, or it was meticulously cleaned. The industrial carpet was clean enough, and the door they came to was as unremarkable as the next.

"Alright, Dianne," Meliodas withdrew his hand and stepped away.

Still trembling a bit, Dianne, whose hair brushed the ceiling, nodded, and crouched down to the level of the door. She reached for the handle, which vanished in her biggie-size hand.

A loud snap issued, but it was brief enough that most wouldn't think much of it. Far more inconspicuous than beating the door down, and with all these electronic keys nowadays, far more efficient. Though, having Gowther around usually was the quickest, quietest way to break and enter places they weren't supposed to go, no matter the lock.

The door opened up silently, thankfully. Meliodas padded in with perfected silence, while Merlin didn't even bother and floated through, her feet inches off the floor. Dianne just crawled in. Worked as good as anything.

She closed the door behind them.

He let his senses loose, which quickly zoomed in on the living presence laying on the couch in the living room ahead. Knowing he probably had the best line of sight, given darkness was his element, Meliodas led the girls behind him. The moment he stepped into the living room, Merlin used telekinesis to flip on the lights.

The woman on the sofa hissed and curled in on herself. He could already pick out the otherworldly beauty, though most of her hid underneath a blanket and her own thick, wavy black hair.

"Yo," said Meliodas.

Every muscle in her body went rigid. She didn't need to see them in order to sense their power levels, and based off what he sensed, they were more than enough for her.

"Sorry to come so late, but we're here to evict you," he said, all happy charm. "You can either return to the Demon Realm on your own volition, or we'll kill you."

The curtain of hair parted and the barest trace of ivory skin and glimmering eyes poked through.

"Your strength alone doesn't give you authority," she murmured, her voice silken and soft, just as he expected it to be.

Something, a memory just out of grasp, tickled the back of his mind.

"You're right," he said, still holding to his positive tone, hoping to play down the threat they obviously were…and just longtime habit. "But these nifty little tattoos from Earth-King Bartra should do the trick."

More of her oval-shaped face appeared as she jutted her chin out to see. Meliodas flexed his arm and lifted his work uniform's sleeve to put the red, round dragon tattoo on display. Dianne followed suit lifting up a leg of her shorts to show a red snake in the same style on her thigh. Merlin just floated there, her matching boar tattoo on her neck already proudly displayed.

He managed to get a quick look of the beautiful, yet familiar features attributed to succubae and incubi before she ducked her face back into the darkness of her hair.

"I've done no wrong."

"I got a terrified employee of yours that says otherwise."

"You need two witnesses—"

"Technically we need none," said Merlin, always willing to step in to dominate. "Your presence on the Mortal Plane is witness enough. Leave or be terminated."

The succubus sat up, slowly, languidly. The blanket drew back to reveal more perfect, ivory skin, displayed by a simple, yet revealing purple tank top and a set of boy cut panties. Long, curvy legs pulled out from beneath the blanket, their paleness practically glowing in the mix of yellow lamp and half-moon light from the living room windows.

"This is my home," she murmured, still low, still all silken smoothness. Then her eyes appeared, almond shape and bright, looking straight at Meliodas. "I don't see you returning." Her eyes then snapped to Dianne. "Or you."

Meliodas shrugged. "We got permission."

"How do you know I don't?"

"Because you don't," said Merlin, bringing a hand from her hip, a black, glass ball appearing just above her hand, where it floated as steadily as she did. "I would know."

Faster than most humans could blink, the beauty attacked, nails thickening to claws, pouting lips thinning with bared fangs, and black wings unfurling like rolls of cloth from her back to paddle the air.

But Meliodas wasn't human either. Faster than she, he stepped to the side and caught the succubus by the back of her hair, eliciting a scream as she jerked to a stop right before slamming into the half-standing Dianne.

"If you hadn't gotten so jealous over your girls' relationships, we probably would have never found you," Meliodas said conversationally before throwing her to the floor with enough strength to vibrate the entire apartment.

She hissed, still managing to be the picture perfect idea of seductress even with her eyes black with demonic fury and her mouth full of knives. Claws raked at Meliodas's hand.

And then, suddenly, they weren't, as his hand released of its own accord.

"Captain," started Merlin tersely.

But he barely heard her. The tickling memory at the back of his mind had burst into light, and the vividness of his remembrance momentarily flooded his senses. Silver hair, smooth skin, a warm, almost divine light…

His breath caught as pure beauty, real beauty, _his_ beauty, stretched out her arms to him, as pure and fair as the succubus had been dark and tempting.

_But there's no such thing as reincarnation…_

Merlin and Dianne's shouts snapped back to him, ice water over his head. His senses whirled back. The succubus had slithered away from his sight to attack while he had stood there stunned beneath the hit of mind magic. If he hadn't been so, well, old—

He whirled about, all go-lucky pretense gone. Merlin had the perfect cube up to protect the apartment and not alarm any of the neighbors, while Dianne wrestled a very angry, cat-like succubus in the pink, glowing cage. Deep scratches about her body slowly trickled blood, staining her white, grumpy cat t-shirt and dripping into her eye.

"I really don't want to do this," Dianne said above the angry spitting and hissing.

"_Like hell_," snarled the succubus as she tore out two handfuls of brown hair. It made Dianne flinch enough for the demoness to wriggle free, like some slimy worm, and come down on the giantess's face with all her claws pointing down.

And then Meliodas was in there, hand retracting a blade from the ether of his own darkness, chest hot with rage.

Not taking the time to thank Merlin for transporting him into the unbreakable Perfect Cube, he swung out, black and purple flames lacerating the air to reach the winged vixen pawing at his comrade's face.

The head of beautiful, thick black hair flew back in a screech.

He didn't need to slash again. Instead, he merely tightened his fists.

The flames dove in.

Within a breath, the succubus had been reduced to nothing. Not even ash.

Meliodas crossed the short distance to Dianne as Merlin dispersed the Perfect Cube. He didn't even notice how small his calloused hand seemed against her large face.

"She didn't get your eyes, did you?" he asked, even as he wiped away the blood. Thankfully, he felt no cuts that had met their mark.

"I don't think so," Dianne's gaze fluttered to him and she smiled. "Yep. A-ok, Captain."

"Good. Merlin, think you can patch her up before cleanup duty?"

"Course." She flashed her imperious smile, which looked even more devious in the darkness. "But must I do everything around here? What would you do without me?"

"Meh, probably the same thing I did when you were off doing who knows what. Running the bar, protecting the ladies, on the lookout for good booze."

"Of course, Captain."

Dianne hissed as she got up. "Damn, these sting."

"I'd think so," said Merlin. "Succubae claws are poisonous."

She flinched. "What!?"

"You'll be fine," said Meliodas smoothly. "Giant's blood is thicker than human blood, so you'll be fine until Merlin gets you the antidote."

Once Merlin had lowered down the sound barrier she had put up without their notice, she floated back to the ground and the three of them left as quietly as they came, though there wasn't much they could do about the broken lock.

It wasn't until they reached his good ol' toy truck that he realized his rage had yet to disperse, nor had the silver-haired image faded from his mind.

Ducking his head down, he swore beneath his breath.

For him, it was going to be a long night after all.


	8. Red Ribbon

**Just a reminder that I update two chapters at a time, so be sure not to miss the one before this. **

_In another time..._

Elizabeth woke at the foot of a grand, and occupied, bed.

For a moment she let herself wonder at the unimaginable softness holding her and the elegant swirls of the posts that held up a tassel lined canopy. She had heard stories of such beds in rich men's houses but had never seen anything more than a straw mattress held up by a wooden frame and rope. Whatever the blankets or sheets were made of felt like perfectly warm water, and after a minute she sunk back down and dozed some more, still very sore and oh so tired.

When she woke up the second time, she took more notice of the other body some distance from her in the lone, large bed. Their form rose and fell slowly with their breath, and she could make out a tuft of bright blond hair over the sheets.

It must be her captor. Now her keeper. Couldn't do anything about that.

So she fell asleep again.

The third time she awoke, she was alone in the bed and her attention turned to herself. Gone was the rough, bleached linen, and in its place a simple, but rather thin, sky-blue silk dress or shift that covered her body. She wriggled her legs, heating at the feel of complete nakedness underneath. No undergarments at all.

Her back, which tortured her as it had before, felt stiff and sweaty. She reached back to find, not the fluff of her wings, but warm bandages just as soft as the fabric she slept on.

…Wasn't this supposed to be the demon realm? Granted, she didn't feel all that covered in these clothes, but her wounds had been seen to and just as her stomach gave a loud, cramping protest of hunger, she saw a tray of fruit and…flakey…delicious…sugary somethings…

She stuffed herself and fell asleep again. They had to be the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.

She was rudely awoken by a hard tap on the face.

"Wake up. I'm bored."

It took her a moment to recognized the strange mix of soft human features and black eyes. Her demon captor gave her a straight, unamused smile.

"That's right. I didn't bring you here to loaf. You're my entertainment for as long as it lasts."

She shivered at the implications he gave.

Slowly, but not too slowly, she rolled into a sitting position, hyperaware of how the silk of the dress clung to every bump and detail of her body. Yet the demon only gave her a cursory look and sighed.

"How'd they ever mistake an underfed thing like you for a god," he muttered, before turning around to a bell and jewel on the wall.

"Yes, your highness?" came a clear, bell-like tone, from what, she couldn't tell.

"Some food up here. Something fattening."

A hesitant pause. "Of course, your highness."

He turned back around and climbed up onto the bed beside her. She stiffened.

"Relax, your sex offers me nothing as you are," he said, folding his legs clothed in black pants—she did a double take. What had happened to the clawed feet? There were normal boots there now, if pure, clean black could be called normal. He wore a plain black top as well, too short to be a tunic and sleeveless. This only added to his intimidation factor.

"So…who are you? What are you?" he asked.

She flinched and opened her mouth to respond. At first, her voice skipped and broke, then finally started up. All the while he just looked at her, expecting, blank, radiating that dragon-teeth presence through his tightly muscled arms folded across his chest.

"I-I'm Elizabeth. And I'm not really sure…what I am."

He sighed. "I guess it wouldn't make things as fun if you knew right away. Who were your parents?"

"Normal people," she looked to the side, unnerved by his bottomless black eyes. "I think. I never met them. I was raised by an old couple in the mountains who never had children of their own. Never really, uh, met anyone else till they…"

He raised an eyebrow. "Died?"

She nodded, her eyes stinging.

"Then you went down to the village and happened to find some poor neglected kid?"

She shook her head. "He fell while watching his sheep. Good boy. Really."

"And how would you know?"

She said nothing. The only man she had known until then had been her adopted father, and she couldn't really say the child had been a good boy based off of that. But he had been so worried about the sheep and earnest about making sure all of them were safe and gathered, like a hen with her little chicks. Something like that couldn't be bad.

"So, the hermit mutant comes down from the mountains to the first village she finds and discovers just how different she is. What occurred to you first, the chicken wings or the healing? Or was it the eye?"

"Oh, no," she touched her cheek beneath the orange-gold eye, which glowed in the dim lighting of his room. "I've always had these. And the healing…came on slowly. Just like any other skill, I suppose. My parents told me that's why they couldn't take me into town. Because my talent and…stuff would endanger me."

He snickered, but there was nothing happy about his dry, crooked smile. "And, whaddya know, they were right."

She ducked her chin down to her chest, letting her hair sweep down into a curtain between them. It was the first time she noticed someone had washed and brushed her hair too, but she didn't waste time being in awe.

"Well," he said, unfurling his legs, nearly touching her with the heel of his boots. "Humans are, if nothing else, predictable." He paused, and the quiet somehow seemed foreboding. "So you're just another human, then?"

She shivered again, feeling all the blood leak from her head, making the bed seem tipsy.

"I'm sorry. I don't know if I'll be much entertainment," she all but whispered.

The quiet spread out between them, far from comfortable and ringing with silence.

After a few moments, she glanced up to see him lounging across his pillows, arms behind his head, gaze to the canopy. As though sensing her gaze, he shrugged.

"I got some experiments I can try first," he said. "And there's always plumping you up for a little fun. I can kill you afterwards, unless you would prefer being passed around for a bit."

She blanched. "P-p-passed around?"

"I got some brothers," he said, as though that instantly explained everything. "They may want to experiment too. We don't see anything like you every century, after all."

She twisted her hands against her chest. Who would have ever believed she'd end up in a demon's castle, calmly discussing her rape and death with her captor?

After a few more moments, he yawned, stretched, and sat back up, rustling through a pocket of his pants. Without a word, he pulled out what looked to be a thick satin ribbon the color of blood, which he proceeded to dive through her hair with. She yelped in surprise but didn't move. The ribbon wrapped about her neck, where he tied it. Once satisfied, he leaned back.

"Every responsible pet owner gives their pet a collar," he said, once more with dry amusement. "When I'm not around you can wander about as you please. The collar will mark you as mine to anyone who doesn't already know, and I doubt there is anyone. Still, I can't vouch for your safety." He scratched the side of his nose, where a flicker of black shadow trailed down from his forehead. "We are demons, after all. Behaving isn't really our style, even if the thought of making me angry does scare the shit out of them." he shrugged again. "Your best bet is in here. I guess."

How reassuring.

She touched the satin ribbon, once more feeling the cold numbness creeping over her heart.

_You don't belong here_, whispered a familiar something in her mind and chest. _You're meant for so much more._

Like she could do anything about that now. Perhaps healing the people she could in the wind village had been her purpose. If so, then she could end here. That would be okay.

The demon tapped her breastbone to get her attention. His nails were short and clean.

"Hey, show me this healing power of yours."


	9. Remember Me

**Author's note: Sorry, guys, only one chapter today and it's late. I've been dealing with, uh, pre-term labor threat problems and have been more than usual out of commission. I'm only 28 weeks along so it's really too early for Lowe boy #2 to come. I am in part a little relieved, though, because now I know I wasn't in all that pain for nothing, that there was actually something wrong. And now I know what to do about it. So, I'm posting this up before I go to get my second round of shots to help his lungs develop in case he does come for you to enjoy. Please excuse that I haven't edited yet. I was eager to get it up. **

**Thank you for reading. ^.^**

**LoweFantasy**

The half-moonlight through his balcony's glass doors painted the silver girl and dragon fuzz in half shadow, half white. The similarities between the revived image from the succubus's mind magic and this girl stunned him, and his lungs stuck. Three thousand years it had taken him to forget the curve of her cheekbone, the sweep of her dark gray lashes, the small way she set her teeth onto her bottom lip as she slept, occasionally making a soft whistling noise.

Knees weak as butter, he fell down to his haunches, clutching his hair as he struggled to breathe.

_No. No, I can't go through this again. Not now._

Three thousand years. Three thousand years. It didn't matter that he wasn't mortal and therefore didn't sense time like they did, it had taken so long…so long just to _function_. No. To exist.

"There's no such thing as reincarnation," he whispered to himself, like a protective talisman.

But, oh, oh god, if there was anything he could give for this Elizabeth to be the same angel who had reached him in the darkness so long ago.

Trembling, muffling his gasps as best he could, he eventually managed to suck it back in, like returning vomited organs back to their place, and used the wall to brace himself back into a standing position. He avoided looking at her as best as he could, even while the almost whisper like whistling of breath through her lax teeth pierced him like arrows.

In his room, he closed the door and locked it. Even with the expensive black out curtains and black painted walls, his eyes could still see through the darkness. He clenched them close, wishing such wasn't the case. Three thousand years and he still had these demonic powers and tendencies. Three thousand years and he still couldn't be blinded by the dark. Three thousand years…

And he still didn't have her.

He didn't sleep. Technically, he didn't need to unless injured, even if his mind felt the blow. It wasn't a blow one could so easily run away from. The memory dragged out from the rusted depths of his memory glowed as bright as ever, drawing out friends to flit across his mind's eye, tempting, warm, beautiful, and never to return. His own personal torture, brought back by that succubus bitch.

Despite this, he cleaned himself to perfection and had his practiced smile on by the time he stepped out of his room to the morning light. It helped that the counter and cupboards were in the line of sight to see the girl on the couch, and he managed to pull down his rather impressive line of cereal boxes on the counter with steady hands.

He heard her stir and stretch just as he got the bowls and milk in place.

"Hey, Elizabeth. Sleep well?"

A crack of joints and a small noise in her throat. Even that sounded familiar now. Damnit.

"Mel-Meliodas?"

"Yes'um, that's me."

"So…all that really…wow, what's with all the cereal?"

"I'd love to cook you a proper hot breakfast," he said, pushing out one of the mismatched ceramic bowls. "But I think tasting my cooking first thing in the morning might make you miss a day of your life. So, I make do with this lovely collection. Pouring milk doesn't involve any cooking whatsoever." He almost added that it was one of his favorite inventions of the modern age, but he quickly caught himself. When was the last time he had made such a stupid slip? Ages, of course. Not even Ban knew, though he his closest friend had his suspicions.

Her hair caught the morning light like the metallic silver it could have been spun from. He made sure to breathe in carefully as he met her open blue eyes, ready for the shock of familiarity they would bring. She still had those cheek bones. Still had the lightest of impressions on her dry bottom lip from her teeth. Even her smell…oh dear god, her smell…

"I haven't had Cookie Crunch since I was a kid," she said, rubbing sleep dust from her eyes as she grabbed the box, smile wide. "Think it will give me diabetes now?"

He barely caught on to those words. "Does it matter? It's coooooooookie crunch!"

The old ad punch line elicited the giggle he was aiming for, and an unwanted heat crept up the back of his neck.

"You got work today, right?" he asked, grabbing a random box without looking. Didn't much matter, as he liked all of them.

She flinched and looked at the digital clock on his stove, but let out a relieved sigh.

"Yes, in about an hour. I hope no one notices my clothes. Do I look to bad?"

"Nope." If only. Then he could feel sane again. "And before you ask, I don't think you smell too bad either. At least, not from here, and if anyone's closer to you than this you might as well smack them."

A flitting thought of smacking said too-close persons gave him a forgotten prick of pleasure. He smothered it with a mouthful of milk-dosed cereal.

"Do you, um, have a comb or something you wouldn't mind lending me?"

"Sure!" And he flicked out a cheap, but thick, red one from his pocket. He'd snagged it off Ban when the other wasn't looking just to screw with him—also because he was sick and tired of the vain cook breaking health code violation and combing back his hair every twenty minutes right over the food he was cooking.

"You keep a comb on you? How old fashion—in a good way. Like, in the old movies and stuff." She finished pouring her milk and ducked to get a better look at him from under the cupboards. "Though…you don't have the kind of hairstyle I'd picture with that."

He shrugged. "Nothing can tame this rugged good doo. Nah, I stole that from my cook." At her widening eyes, he added, "Guy keeps breaking health code with it. I am his boss. And it won't kill him. Oh, but don't worry, it's clean. You shouldn't get anything from him."

"I didn't think so," she said, spooning little cereal cookies into her mouth. As she chewed, she took the comb to the ends of her ruffled, waist length hair.

Another ghost passed through him—of that hair bunching up as he wound his arms around her waist, then breaking even more out of its smooth waterfall as he slid a hand up her back—

He bit his tongue mid-chew.

Choking, eyes stinging, he managed to swallow and gave a pound to his chest.

"I hate it when that happens," she said. "Wrong tube?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak in that moment. Because such feelings…he had been lying to the others and himself when he said he had plenty of practice with the ladies. The truth was, damnation still hadn't worn off him, giving him an immunity to the natural mortal urges that often came with romantic feelings, or just by seeing a good looking broad. Yes, he could still appreciate the pretties when they came, but not to any such depth as what prickled and writhed his gut at the memory of her silk hair and curves of her warm back.

It had been…so long…

He had to get her out of there. Now.

Even so, he trusted his expert control of his expression. Nothing of his tribulation would leak out. Not a shake. Not a whimper.

He forced himself to finish the cereal, still not recognizing what he had picked by the time he dropped the bowl in the sink. She came round to hand him her empty bowl as well, still combing her hair.

"I'll drop you off," he said, always with his perfected smile.

"That's really very kind of you," but she didn't return the smile. Instead, she frowned. "Is…is something the matter, Mr. Meliodas?"

Something inside him jumped. What the—no way in hell. Three thousand years of practice. Three thousand years!

"I'm doing dandy!" he widened his smile, just for extra measure, and slung his truck keys out from his pocket to spin them round his fingers. "Need any bathroom time or such?"

"No. I keep a toothbrush in my bag, just in case, you know. And some, you know, touch up stuff." She finally did return his smile, although it was a tentative one. "You really are amazing. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"Nah. It's nothing," and, out of the blue, he just stopped himself from pinching one of her tightly clad buttcheeks as he walked past—oh hell, yes, out. Out right now.

And they were out. He didn't bother locking the door behind him. It took all his self-control not to make a sprint down the stairs to the parking garage where the green truck waited. His fingers shivered oh so minutely as he buckled in.

_Breathe. Breathe. There is no such thing as reincarnation._

Like hell that mattered at this point.

_I'm sorry, Elizabeth,_ he prayed in his heart. _I won't cheat on you, I swear, it's just…my heads gotten so screwed up, and she looks so much like _you.

Once Elizabeth—the modern one, the live one—shut the truck door, her scent, undiluted by a morning shower, flooded the inside of his car as good as any water. He wondered if he could get away with breathing through his mouth, or not breathing at all, as his head tipped and spun and memories rankled his thoughts.

"Mr. Meliodas?"

He shook himself. "Sorry. Spaced out there a bit." He jammed the keys in and revved up the engine. "Mornings are usually when I go through the stock in my head and make a grocery list."

He pulled out of the garage and into the smoothly into the street. Driving since cars were invented could give you that ability, even as shaken up as he was. The morning traffic rush hour was relatively clear on his street, and they made it too the '5 minute parking only' in front of the Intel building in good time. The glass sides reflected half a dozen suns back across the street, but it didn't quite reach the level of the apartment skyscraper he had entered the night before.

But one minute passed. Then two. And still, the young woman had yet to get out of the truck. He didn't need to look at her to know she was pale as the sidewalk and her hands once again clenched and purpled with fear.

"There's no need to worry about that boss of yours," he said, leaning over his steering wheel to try and look casual even as his insides quaked and ached. "I promise, she won't be a problem to you anymore."

That got him a flinch and a stare. Why wouldn't it?

"How could you—what do you mean by that?" she asked.

He let out a breath through his nose. Here came the tough part. But he'd done it enough times…

_Not like this. Not with her._

But it WASN'T her.

_There's no such thing as reincarnation._

"Well, if I told you the truth, I don't think you would believe me, and I'd probably have to wipe your memory just to help you live life as you normally would."

That's right. He'd done this before. Keep it light.

"I could even erase your memory now, if you like," and he turned to finally look at her. "So you wouldn't have to wonder. It'd be like your boss had never existed."

She recovered remarkably quick—unbelievably so. Then, some humans were special when suddenly confronted with words that were most likely a joke than not.

"You mean, like you had never existed."

The quiet solemnity to her voice turned his glance into a stare.

"What?"

"If I forgot her," she said, and her blue eyes were steady upon him. "Then I'd forget you too, wouldn't I? Since she's the reason we met. 'Cause, you know, I don't drink."

He blinked. "You're not going to ask if I'm joking with you?"

"Would it matter if you were?" she glanced past him, where her co-workers were most likely heading in. "If I go in there and you're wrong, I'll just have to deal with it. Nothing I could ask of you. If I go in and you're right, then that would be proof enough."

His heart picked up speed. Hot pinpricks ran from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes.

_Elizabeth…you had always…just like this…_

"It wouldn't hurt," he pushed passed, and even three thousand years of practice wasn't enough to stop the little croak that started his sentence. "Life would actually be a whole lot easier if you just, you know, let me tap your head and forget all of it. You'll even be able to go to work like nothing happened—"

"But I would forget you, wouldn't I?"

He closed his mouth, stunned. She had turned her attention back to him again with that same, serious solemnity so unusual for the situation.

He tried for his smile again. "That shouldn't be much. You've only known me for a day, I ain't anyone special."

Her brow furrowed at that. "What are you talking about? You're the kindest, sweetest person I've ever met. I was a stranger—I'm still a stranger—I made a mess of myself and puked in your bar and slept in your house and you fed me when I was the most terrified I'd ever been in my life—when I'd lost hope that I could figure anything out—and if I walk through those doors and find out you've really taken care of it, that you really…saved my life…" she shook her head hard, sending her beautiful metal-like hair into silken waves. "Don't take that from me. Don't make me live without this hope. Hope that there's more to life than just suffering and making it through. That there are people out there like you." Pink had slowly filled her cheeks and she looked down, which was all the better for him as all sorts of calamities were ricocheting about his insides. "Please. Let me know you more?"

He swallowed. His mouth dry. "Even if I'm just, you know, messing with you?"

The small smile she gave then was the first of its kind, softened with tenderness and earnest.

"Yeah. After all," and she looked back over his shoulder, still wrecking havoc on his innards with that damn beautiful smile, face flushed and aglow with reflected morning light. "If she's still in there, I'm going to probably need more alcohol, aren't I?"

"She won't be," he said quickly—too quickly. "I swear."

She just nodded and reached for the door handle. "So…I can keep my memories?"

"They are yours. I'd never force myself on you to do anything." Crud, what was he saying? What was all this…feeling getting into his voice? No, no, no!

"And I…I can see you again?"

"Whenever you want." It was like his mouth had a mind of its own.

That smile widened, and in that second she became every bit the spitting image of the vision the succubus had forced on him. He half expected her to reach out her arms to him, inviting, welcoming.

His.

"I guess I'll see you, then. Thank you."

The door opened. She was waving over the hood of his truck. Black heels took her across the spread of cosmopolitan sidewalk to those glass doors.

And she was gone.

Shaking so bad it could have been convulsions and sweat beading along his brow and pits even though his hands had gone cold as ice, the barkeeper dropped his head to the steering wheel and let out a low, breathless howl.


	10. Pretending

**Update...if you're interested:**

**So, baby hasn't come yet, which is good. I'm only 30 weeks, but I've been cramping and contracting a lot this weekend. So, either he will come soon or I'll be unlucky enough to just be in pain and unable to be on my feet or in the same position for longer than ten minutes for the next two months...**

**Just imagine having a crampy period for two months, on top of having a watermelon strapped so tightly to your gut it squishes all your organs into a corner, making it hard to breathe or bend over or...well, a lot of things. There you go. But that should also tell you just how worth it children are. Aka, just how worth it YOU are. You are worth a very miserable year (because it doesn't vanish after you give birth). Nothing is like having kids. **

**Still...I'm freaking tired of this.**

_In another time..._

The red satin ribbon clashed against her ivory skin in a sinful way. While he could not appreciate it on an aesthetic level, he could still see what he could have appreciated had he not been, well, what he was. But, sliding his finger along the glossy ribbon and occasionally the warm, softness of her skin, he could pretend. Imagination was free.

Had he this opportunity in his first estate? A woman's skin, yes. But like this? Sleeping, vulnerable, beautiful, delicate, and tenderly smooth? He had been so young. Yet that, in part, is what made him so powerful here in his final estate. Old men lived out the morning of their eternity. The young came to it fresh. Little to no time to change their minds. Yet eternity was still an eternity.

Since he was alone, since the doors and windows were closed, he closed his eyes and leaned in close to breathe in her scent.

Mortal. Earthy. Gross. A reminder that this body still digested food and oozed its waste and decay.

He pulled back, breathing deep to clear his sinuses while still trying to connect with the dead natural man that would have found this scent glorious. Back when mating and love making still had a purpose. Then he leaned in close, closer to the ribbon, and smelled again. This time he caught the very light perfume of the tailor's closet. It wasn't much more than the pine musk of a cedar chest, but combined with her mortal scent, it became something…not exactly beautiful or sweet, but heady, and full of nostalgia. A nostalgia of something he only had as a babe, when his innocence had excused him from the laws.

The too-sturdy heart in his chest throbbed heavily, pushing out a sigh.

He could work with that.

_A sleeping angel,_ he thought to himself. _This is how a man would think, wouldn't he? An angel of the hearth, full of opportunity and potential. Of growth, of…_

No. Men would not be so concerned with that, unless they were of a strange strand of philosophers. Would a man even have thoughts or would one just go by feel? The heaviness from his heart to his stomach and lower, heat, urgency…what had urgency felt like again?

He took another breath of the ribbon and neck and brushed his hand across her hair, just as smooth as the satin ribbon, if not more so. His fingers did not shake. Nothing worth shaking for. He couldn't pretend that strongly.

He took stock of his body for any changes. A heat, an urge, a craving, anything.

But there was nothing.

With a tired puff of air from his nose, he drew back. He back pedaled off the bed until a sharp squeak cut him off.

A tiny tabby kitten, common in every way, looked up at him with big, accusing eyes, holding up a tiny paw which his knee had accidentally squished into the bed.

He snorted. "Ungrateful vermin."

The kitten, probably sensing its tolerated presence coming to a close, scampered back across the hills of thick bedding to hide between the bandaged wings of the very woman Meliodas had been testing with. That gave him at least a bit of satisfaction.

"That's better," and it was. She had healed the scrawny thing from the edge of death, after all. Pity she couldn't heal herself, as he had originally expected her to do to obey his order of showing her healing powers. But even as she put her glowing fingertips over her shoulder, the crippled feathers remained in place. So he had a demon fetch whatever closest dying, living thing he could find-which had ended up being this kitten. He hadn't bothered to get a full assessment of it, other than the knowledge that some more mischievous demons had gotten a hold of it. Anything to entertain.

He didn't push to his feet right away. Where was he to go besides his study? What work would there be to do for the royalty of damned souls who couldn't change and needed no sustenance to survive? In a way, it would be better to be a servant, as at least that would have given him work to do.

Work. He smiled sardonically at the thought and stood up.

A part of him that still hung back, trying to pretend life, moved him to lock the door behind him. Protect what was his, right? That's what men did.

"How's the toy?"

He looked up to meet the blank gaze of his youngest brother as he came down the hall. His red suit reminded him strongly of Elizabeth's ribbon and he wondered if the tailor had any other shade of red dye.

"You don't look too interested to know," said Meliodas.

"And you'd be right." Zeldris folded his arms, stopping before Meliodas and his bedroom door. "But it is something to ask."

And something to learn. "She sleeps too much. But her healing powers are legitimate."

This earned him the smallest of reactions of Zeldris in a raised eyebrow. Now that did interest him.

"Like unto…?"

"More or less."

"Have you brought a Saint down here on accident?"

"You felt her mortality as much as I."

"Mortals can heal too."

"But not of their own choice. They are only tools. A venue for the light to come through. It appeared as though she had full control."

Now both of Zeldris's eyebrows were up. "By her own power?"

"It appears so. That, or the Eternal God has given unprecedented favor to her and her will." Meliodas sniffed. "I don't see how saving a dying kitten would be in His plans, though."

"Well, I wouldn't expect us of all people to know the thoughts of such a being. " Zeldris stepped past, a hand to Meliodas's shoulder. "I'm going to the surface. I need some air."

Meliodas nodded, hearing the unvoiced suggestion. "I'll come too."

Zeldris continued on, this time with Meliodas at his side.

The elder demon prince stole a sidelong glance at his brother, remembering their shared dim, but unfaded past. This man here had been his actual biological brother in the previous estate, and Meliodas had long ago memorized the similarities in their appearance—the sure sign of their shared heritage. Not that family ties held out or mattered in this realm. They held no purpose. And yet, through the Demong King, here they were, brothers still, even if unsanctioned by any god or light.

For some reason, his locked bedroom door came to mind.

"What was the name of that girl of yours again? Back then," Meliodas asked.

Zeldoris stiffened. Even the dark, wild hair on his head seemed to rise.

"Why do you care?" his tone could have been a taut band, ready to snap back in his brother's face.

Meliodas had little reason to lie, and yet he hesitated.

He went with half truth.

"I was wondering if you would have clung to her still if she were here. Held to the sentiment, if not the name."

Zeldoris gave him an unreadable, but heated look.

"If I had actually had the sentiment to hold onto in the first place I wouldn't be here. " He abruptly turned his head to glared down the hall. "No. Gelda was a whore and a passing fancy to my passions. Nothing more."

"Gelda," murmured Meliodas to himself, as though Zeldris hadn't said anything else. "What would you do if you discovered you had children by her?"

Zeldris sneered. "They would be long dead and diluted with everyone else through the generations. You forget our time here, brother. Besides, they wouldn't be mine. Just a passing of genes through a misplaced rut." He shook his head. "The mutant girl is making you think things, isn't she?"

Meliodas hid his wince. "Not anything I haven't had before. Think she needs another bath."

"Humans don't need baths. They do quite fine in their own filth." Zeldris looked amused at this, which was completely true. Their Creator loved cleanliness, and yet the darkened humans seemingly abandoned by said Creator now thought water an evil and lived in disgusting squalor, which in turn delighted the demons.

"That doesn't mean I have to smell it."

Zeldris shrugged, once more returning to his default stoniness. Nothing of interest here anymore.

They walked in silence till they came to a naked platform, devoid of railings or any other sort of safety precaution. It jutted out like a black knife towards the barren land.

Black wings unfurled from their backs.

"There haven't been as many offerings lately," said Zeldris, as though he had just remembered.

"Maybe something happened to kill a bunch," said Meliodas just as flatly.

They would all die eventually, so who cared?

And yet as he took to the sky beside the red streak of his brother, his fingers remembered the feel of her hair in comparison to the satin ribbon. Why hadn't he buried his fingers in it to feel more? Why hadn't he tangled himself in it?

Because, as he had just said to himself, mortality didn't last.


	11. Unfailing Brain

**I had my baby! A little boy. Got him out in one push-to the utter astonishment of the nurses and doctor. He was born early august and I've been taking any spare time from cuddling him to write for you. ^.^ **

**I named him Link. **

6

He didn't go to work that night.

He freaking owned the place and was thousands of years old. If he wanted to take the time to recondition himself for life in his damn apartment (or brood, fine, he'd admit to that), then he damn would. It's not every day you're reason for even trying gave you a visit from the grave.

Even so, Ban called him up sometime around dinner rush. He ignored the call and was rewarded with a text.

_Ban: You dead?_

Meliodas let his head drop back on the couch armrest with a solid thump. Besides him, on the floor, stood three hefty, and empty, bottles of Spirytus Stawaski, the strongest alcohol he could find on the market at 96% alcohol. The forth bottle hung in his hand, half-way gone.

Still, he'd only reached a sleepy kind of buzz. He could barely remember what it was like to be drunk, but he had seen it enough times to know this wasn't it.

He blew some hair out of his face.

He should respond. If he didn't, Ban wasn't beneath dropping his job and hunting him down. Idiot couldn't get it through his brain that even in the worse of trouble, Meliodas couldn't die. Even if he wanted to.

So, he propped his cell up on his chest and slowly typed a reply.

'_Still kicking.'_

He let the phone flop back down and took another swig. The booze had a remarkably mild, sweet smell for how much alcohol it contained, which made the after burps all but tasteless. It was like drinking warm ice.

The vibration from the return text actually felt kind of good against his chest. Like a quick mini massage. Huh, maybe he was further along than he gave credit.

_Ban: I meant ur soul. *emocon of hands together in prayer*_

Meliodas wondered if Ban would still come after him with only his emotional and mental well-being at hand. Probably shouldn't put it past him.

'_Totally soul-dead. Will resurrect tomorrow. You called in Escanor?'_

_Ban: No. I'm letting the whole place burn. _

Meliodas took that to mean all was well and happily dropped his phone back onto the carpet. It only had two percent life, so he didn't bother turning it off. That would take the brain energy needed to drink.

Soon, his emergency store of drink was gone, and his metabolism had already started on munching away what buzz he had managed.

Cursing in several languages, he dumped the bottles, swaggered to his bedroom, and fell face down on the mattress.

Next thing he knew, he had started sobbing again. Great, ugly, gasping sobs that hurt even to hear, especially coming from his own throat.

_So pathetic…_

But this was part of the price of light—of anything worth it, really. Everything had its opposition. To have happiness, one had to experience sorrow, and so on. It was one of the main reasons he had been a demon in the first place: because he wouldn't accept that. What was all power and all freedom if one couldn't avoid suffering?

So, in truth, this horrid pain was a gift.

He swore in several other languages, including demonic.

_Why the hell did it have to be this way?!_

He coughed on a particularly ragged sob and pushed himself up to breathe. He was immortal, not undead. Air was still very much useful.

Some time passed, agonizingly slow, and yet pass it did. He dropped in and out of daydreams where he walked and talked with her about nothing and everything. These dreams would stop as he remembered a certain way her eyes would shine when she smiled at him, or the brush of her hair against his arm as it swished back and forth with her hips. She had had wings back then. Glorious, beautiful things that had started out looking like a strangled swan had been tied to her back.

Those white beauties had held the very sky beneath her on that day, great ladle-fulls of air, each wing the size of a full grown man.

The snap of a door closing jarred him back to reality.

"Hello, Captain."

He twisted his face into his damp pillow and moaned.

Couldn't catch a break.

With a grunt to clear his throat, he twisted his head back to ground out, "Stop breaking into my house!"

"Noooo!"

"Dick," he turned his face back to his pillow to hiss out a breath. Nothing he could do now. If he was lucky, he could convince the stupidly talented ex-burglar to leave before he got a look at Meliodas's face.

He heard a shuffle of plastic.

"Get out of my trash," it was more of a groan than a yell.

"Four bottles." A low whistle. "Didn't know stuff this strong existed. That bad?"

"Since when did you become such a nosey asshole?"

"Since the day I was born." The flap of the plastic garbage lid falling back into place. "Where've you been?"

"Fooled into believing you respected boundaries."

"Best friend privilege," and this time Ban's words came from his bedroom doorway. "So, you can either give it up willingly or I continue snooping. You missed Miss Silverette tonight, you know. She sure missed you. Damn, your room is dark as hell, per usual."

His chest constricted fast and tight. He couldn't have said anything in response to that even if he had wanted to.

Ban gave it a minute before pressing, "Well?"

"There's nothing you can do," he managed to break out.

"Yeah, I didn't say I'd do anything about it. Nosey asshole, remember?"

"Who did you leave to cook?"

"Duh."

Meliodas sighed against his pillow. Ban could wait there all night if he had to, he knew that. The goal had been to avoid having him over at all. Guy really didn't know boundaries, jerk.

He sat up, keeping his back to his friend and his eyes to the heavy black out curtains.

"Succubus's mind magic forced me to remember some crap rather forcefully and it screwed with my head. That's all."

"Bad enough to hole up in here? I'm not an idiot, Captain, you don't do this. You either stuff it under that stupid smile of yours or rip it a new one."

"Yeah. I guess so."

"It's freaking creepy. Stop."

"Working on it."

"Sure. When was the last time you ate?"

Meliodas shrugged, even as the mystery cereal meal with Elizabeth rose to his mind. Oh god, what a sick joke. Same name, same looks, even to some extent the same personality and quirks. Who up there was screwing with him?

"Ugh, nevermind. Just remembered all you have in your house is cereal and milk. It never ceases to amaze me how you're still alive. Cereal isn't an actual meal, you know." Ban sighed. "No choice, then. Come on. We're going out."

"No, I'm not."

"You don't got a choice."

Meliodas snorted. "Try to make that truth and I'll kick you through six floors to the stratosphere."

"And you probably could," admitted Ban, in all truthfulness. "But then you wouldn't get the little woman's numbeeeeerrrr."

Meliodas cringed, grateful for the darkness to hide such a reaction from his friend's attention. "I don't need that."

"Then I guess I'll just keep it then? I'm sure I could get her into all sorts of fun trouble. Remember that time in Boston with Dianne and King—"

Meliodas hurled one of his pillows, which puffed with enough force on the smirking grey-haired cook's face to rupture with synthetic fluff.

Ban didn't so much as finch.

"Six out of ten," said Ban. "If you were really mad it'd be something solid, but bursting a pillow is still pretty impressive. So I'll give you to five."

"Five to what?"

"Till I come over there and dress your grown-but-bitty man ass like a toddler. One—"

Meliodas called him something extra pretty.

Ban just smirked. "Two."

The bartender didn't think there had been anything within him to snap.

But snap it did, with all the force of a fat lady's garter.

"She's not my lover."

Ban snorted. "Not yet—"

"And she never will be."

"So it's 'cause you have no game—"

Meliodas's vocal chords snapped with the sudden force of his roar. "_Damn it, _Ban, she isn't Elizabeth! _She isn't the woman I loved three thousand years ago!"_

An understandable silence followed.

Ban blinked.

"Wha?"

The man's expression would have been funny in any other situation. Meliodas was far from laughing.

"You heard me," he growled, rubbing his throat.

"Three thousand…" Band blinked again. "Okay, I've always known you were older than you look—everyone knows that, else you'd be like, fourteen, but…" he suddenly scowled. "Real funny, Cap. Not even demons get that old."

"Shows what you know," Meliodas stood. "Now if you don't mind—"

But epiphany hit Ban just then so hard, it didn't take ten years of knowing him to understand that expression.

"You're a demon," he said.

"Yeah."

"A…a real one. Not the little stuff we deal with, like…like from the other worlds, like post-ressurection, like—"

"A demon lord," Meliodas faced him and looked his best friend in the face, despite the fact he probably couldn't see Meliodas through the darkness and the ugly, twisting coming over his gut. He might just hurl once this was all over. "Prince, to be exact."

A full minute of dead silence passed between them, where Ban stared into the dark room where he thought Meliodas was and Meliodas stared back, heart speeding up.

He had only just confessed to being the equivalent of Satan. A real life king of all adversity. It was equal to seeing God, and even His prophets had fallen apart with fear on meeting Him, and that was with the good guy.

"But…" Ban cleared his throat, and his next words came out at less of a croak. "But those can't be here, those, well, they don't have—"

"Bodies," finished Meliodas.

"Which would make you, like…"

"Post-judgement and suppose to stay in my own world, unable to abide any other level of glory than what I have been given, yes."

Ban cleared his throat again and put his hands in his pockets, missing on the first try. "Well. You meet new stuff every day. I take it there's a reason? I mean, you gotta deal with the big guy or something?"

Meliodas finally looked away, the twisting in his gut rising to join the heavy agony the alcohol had failed to dampen.

"It's her." He said. "I wanted to be with her. This was the deal."

"Reverse judgement." Ban nodded, though he didn't sound like he got it at all. "She's not what you are, I take it? And if she's dead, she was on this world, right? Three big ones ago."

Meliodas nodded before remembering Ban couldn't see him. "Yes."

"But, demons don't…you know…" Ban suddenly shook his head. "Yeah, you know what? I'm going to try and stop making sense of stuff now. You loved a chick that went somewhere other than demon hell and asked God to give you a deal where you could relive the one chance no one gets. And since there isn't really any such thing as rebirth—"

"But she looks just like her, Ban," Meliodas whispered, the stone in his throat returning with vengeance. "She has the same name, the same hair, the same…the same god damn voice."

"…Oh."

In the following quiet, Meliodas climbed back onto his bed and flopped face down in the softness once more, not caring if he didn't get air this time.

"And it's not like you can cheat on the girl you've been trying to get back with for three thousand years," said Ban.

Meliodas said nothing.

"And, course, it's not like you want to. But it's almost like she's right there—oh hell, wait, if you're immortal, you're memory—"

"It's perfect," Meliodas said into the mattress.

"Which would—aw hell, aw shit…shit. Dude, this is why these sorts of things don't happen. At least, they aren't suppose to. What the hell kind of girl was she? No chick can be worth that."

Meliodas sighed and tipped his face up out of the mattress.

"She…she was a goddess."


	12. Why All Stay Within Their Darkness

**Author's Note: Yes, guest reviewer, I've been getting your calls to update Walk by Dragons on my website. But since you leave you reviews as a guest, I can't respond to your messages. I mean to get to it as soon as I can. At the moment I have to use every spare second I have working on a commission for a children's book. I didn't even really have time to update this chapter as my baby was fussing half the time I did it. But don't worry, I hear you. :) It comes soon.**

**Thank you for all your well wishes! I'm glad you like his name. I love Legend of Zelda. **

**Now to the story and to get to my baby. Enjoy! (p.s. I'm using what I researched of the black plague, and just because the demons are crude doesn't mean I'm not. I'm actually rather...prude? Is that the word?)**

A plague had erupted across the humans. It didn't take much for him and his brother to recognize the bacteria had been passed along by rodents that had been encouraged by the filth the humans surrounded themselves with. They stayed around long enough, circling the globe and tuning into thoughts, to laugh at the discovery that many of the humans attempts to fight against the plague only exasperated it, like killing off the dogs and cats that would have killed the rats spreading the disease. Then there was lancing the swollen and infected limph nodes, which only spread the bacteria everywhere and brought in an infected wound that the body had to heal ontop of the disease. Oh, and so many others.

"I saw some humping the life out of each other to cure it," said Zeldris with a leering smile. "Oh, brother, I could already see them dying, it was hilarious."

"They're all going to die, and with no help from us," cackled Meliodas, because really, it was funny. "All the Creator had to do was leave them to it! Ha! Why are we even here!"

Their laughter died down at that. For a moment, drifting high above the earth on their ethereal wings, the two brothers simply stared down, their immortal eyes perceiving depths and dimensions to the world below that made the height between them and their human quarry meaningless. They could see the state of their spirits, their souls, and the thrumming power that varied in different degrees among each one. So many times they stood watch on that glow, cooing it along to a fathomless black as eternal as their punishment. It was the only source of reproduction they had—making other humans into the same kind of demon Meliodas and Zeldris had become.

"We've been away long enough," said Zeldris. "It's been, what, a century?"

Meliodas shrugged. "Only about three days our time, I reckon."

"That's being a little short, don't you think? Has to be about a week."

"Like I care," and really, he didn't. "Whatever. Sure. Let's go back."

Neither of them said 'back home.' Home implied everything they weren't.

The numb-ice of their home sliced back as Meliodas slipped past the membrane between worlds. His clawed, shadow-like feet turned back to something human as they slapped back to stone. He drug them on his way to the throne room.

"You got an idea for a report?" he asked.

Zeldris just shrugged, not bothering with an answer. It wasn't like it mattered.

The demon king seemed to think otherwise.

"You're certain of the numbers?" he asked, a vision of black intensity on the edge of his throne. His perfectly cut black hair and features made all his emotions appear sharp and vivid, even when the king felt nothing at all. It was part of being master of deception.

"Enough to know they're dying," Meliodas looked elsewhere, peeved. "I don't know why you're freaking out. There are other worlds—other mortals. More are born every second."

"The Creator is nothing if not prolific," said Zeldris softly.

The demon king's eyes narrowed on the younger of the two. A sour tension filled the air.

"And doesn't that mean we are even more so?" asked the king, equally as soft.

Zeldris said nothing. Nor did Meliodas. Both knew what was to follow.

Razor lined whips of fire appeared out of thin air, wrapping about the limbs, necks, and eyes of the two brothers. The teeth dug deep, and the smell of burnt flesh and blood stained the air. Pain beyond pain whited Meliodas's suddenly ruined vision, and his vocal chords tore with a familiar scream.

Then, as though nothing had happened, Meliodas and Zeldris were free and kneeling on the ground, heads bowed, the sound of the blood from their eyes the only sound in the room.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

No point. The wounds would be healed in a few days time. The pain wouldn't change anything. Punishment for what? He couldn't even remember anymore.

The king must have re-remembered this, as he gave a dissatisfied grunt.

"You're dismissed. Send in your brother should you see him."

Meliodas and Zeldris nodded, then turned on legs left with only a few strands left of their calves to limp them out. No mortal could have done it.

The red carpet showed no blood, Meliodas knew, even while his crushed eyeballs couldn't register a thing. The only reason Zeldris and him knew where to go were due to those other senses, and countless millennium wondering that same castle.

He listened to the scraping of his brother's boots until they came to the fork in the hall.

"Funny he should ask us to keep an eye out for Estrossa," said Zeldris, his voice hoarse.

"Should probably have dug one out with a fork first for us," said Meliodas, equally hoarse.

Then they parted.

By the time he reached his room, despite his immortal body's healing capabilities, the last strands of muscle on his right leg had already snapped.

A strangled cry came from within that made him flinch. He had almost forgotten about the girl.

"You're—blood—oh heaven's—"

Her hands appeared on his shoulders, then around as she moved to hold him up. Pointless.

"I'm fine," he croaked.

"I can see the bones in your legs—oh gods—"

Her arms twitched as though to recoil and he heard her gag, though she must have gotten a hand on herself.

Then, an experience unlike anything he'd ever known, and like nothing he could imagine, occurred. One which melted through to his very center.

The pain went away.

Ever since becoming a demon, pain had been a constant in his life till he begun to perceive it just like sight or smell, hot or cold, and neither pleasure nor discomfort came from it. It was like breathing, just a part of existence that he had long ago ceased to think of, thus yet more reason why the demon kings punishment on them was pointless to the extreme. One of the perks to eternal damnation was that one couldn't conceive of more punishment, already being punished to the utmost extent.

But, for the first time in forever, the pain went away, even as a familiar warm light returned to his eyes and he watched the torn flesh on his body melt back together—muscle like strands of thread, skin like clay.

Unable to stop himself, he begun to howl. Belly deep howls like his body were attempting to reject every bubble of air in his body. His perfect, sturdy knees buckled and the rest of him turned to rubber.

"Meliodas! Meliodas, what's wrong? What did I—did I—Meliodas! It's okay! Don't cry, don't cry, you're okay, I healed you! It's all gone, it's okay!"

He hardly heard her. He didn't even feel the gushing streams of tears coursing down his face and dampening the thick carpet on the floor. The howl ran out of air, but he couldn't breathe in. His body wouldn't take it, rejected the very idea of it, even, and he began to retch.

Even so, he didn't want it to change. He didn't want to move from this single point in time, where he hung from this mutated girls arms, surely dying.

Oh, god, such euphoric dying.

"Meliodas!"

Against his and the rest of his body's will, his lungs hiccupped, and a cup full of air slipped in, bringing along with it a smell. Her smell. Not of decay and mortal, but something heady, musty, floral, even, zinged with the savory-sweet taste of something close to skin and precious. His pleasure-buzzed arms snapped about her instantly, bringing her close to bury his face within her breasts, where he flipped to sucking in breaths of air like a starved man rather than rejecting them. Only then did he register that he was sobbing.

Through his closed eyelids, he saw her healing light die away.

And with it, all the relief—all the life. Pain sunk back in.

He choked and coughed on his protest, even as she held him just as tight and chanted useless platitudes—because of course it wasn't alright. Nothing would ever be alright. It only had been in that brief second of time when her light surrounded him.

Overwhelmed, both by the presence of salvation and the departure of it, for the first time since the beginning of his existence, Meliodas blacked out.


	13. End of Probation

7

She came back the next night, every line set just right to take the breath out of his gut. Her smile was cautious, as it had been in the beginning, but every bit as sincere.

"There you are!" she perched on the barstool like a silver bird, the edge of her pumps on the metal foot bar. "I wanted to…well, everything is so weird, it's not like I can talk to anyone else about it." Her smile went up till it squinted her eyes, making them sparkle like faceted jewels. "Or, rather, having such a unique life event should make us friends, right? I mean, I'd like to be friends, if you're okay with that."

Meliodas returned that smile without even meaning to—one that reached deep into his gut, rather than the practice grin he gave to everyone, especially customers.

"' Course!" he said with trained cheer. "First drink is on the house, if you're feeling it, that is."

She dipped her chin down in a pretty, coy expression that made some giant worm behind his naval squirm. He got the sudden random urge to lick some part of her, preferably where he could nuzzle in.

His chest tightened.

"Um, I'm afraid throwing up put me off drinks for a while. Could I have whatever Ban is cooking up back there, though? It smells delicious."

"Oh, first name basis, eh? Got friendly with the cook while I was gone?"

She cocked her head with a sheepish grin. "Well, the man I came for wasn't in." The grin turned soft. A softness that carried to her entire beautiful, pale face. "And now he is."

Now the wind was completely knocked from him. It was only through virtue of being alive for so long that he was able to keep some semblance of normality and not crumple then and there.

He couldn't do this. He just couldn't.

"Let me go order that for you." He couldn't stop his voice from cracking near the end and nearly threw the bottle of beer he had been restocking under the bar as he turned to go back.

The moment he was hidden from view in the kitchen, he collapsed against the prep counter, trembling.

"I can't—I can't do this," he gasped.

Ban turned from lowering a basket into the fryer. His expression had gone wan. He sighed heavily and pulled off his bandana to pull his hair.

"Look," he half murmured, "I can scare her off if you need. Make it look completely natural."

"You may have to, because…" Because he couldn't even begin to see himself ever being cruel to her. But wouldn't chasing her off do just that? She had just taken a dip into a terrifying world where demons existed and he was the only one who could provide answers or even just a semblance of safety.

But one didn't live three thousand years and keep an ability to lie to oneself. He knew the real reason why he couldn't chase her away, and it was what bent him over now and sickened him.

Ban hummed to himself. And, by being virtue of Meliodas's best friend, caught up on the bartender's secret line of thought.

"What if she is her? I mean…you're not supposed to exist, by the rules. Why can't she? Rebirth and all that. Would it be so crazy? Not to mention…" Ban shifted gingerly. "You have been at this for three thousand years. What if this is the Big Man finally giving you what you want?"

Exactly. It wasn't like he had been given a list of what to look for when his time was up.

"But what if she isn't?"

Ban shrugged. "But what if she is?"

Meliodas took in a deep, shaking breath. His insides had been trembling so hard for so long now, they ached. The hope burned him as much as it made him want to run to the rooftops and scream and shout and dance naked under the moon.

He looked at Ban, letting him see his naked heart on his face. "Okay…so what first? She doesn't seem to remember me."

Ban echoed the nervous, but elated grin that must have been on Meliodas's face. "A date couldn't go amiss."

"It can if I lose it." Meliodas straightened and ran his hands down his face. "Ban, god, I—how the hell am I gonna control myself if I figure it is her and she doesn't remember? I might—I might—"

"Kiss her head to foot and ravish the sweet lov'n out of her?"

Meliodas just moaned.

Ban laughed.

"Alright, alright, give me the little missy's order and get back up there, get started. Time's a-wasting!"

An idea struck Meliodas. "Do we have any apples?"

"Apples?"

"Yeah, fresh, crisp ones. Pink ladies or Honeycrisps."

"Man, I only know apples by their colors: red, green, and blue."

But the idea had struck, and it wouldn't go home. the muscles in his calves and arms jumped with excitement.

"Quick, get to the grocer before they close and get a bushel of pink lady apples."

Ban just blinked. "What are you thinking?"

"Apples," he said, distracted by the pantry next to the walk-in-fridge.

Fifteen minutes later, Meliodas slid a platter of two apples, cut horizontally, artfully sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar with a dollop of peanut butter in the center. Luckily, the customers who had come in while Ban had been gone had only ordered drinks and not any cooking other than the fish and chips Ban had been cooking before the apple run.

"Bon Appetite," he said.

For a full ten seconds that seemed to last an eternity, she stared down at the apple halves, delicate pink mouth lax.

His heart trembled like a hummingbird against his collarbone.

When she continued to say nothing, a sinking, hot rush of embarrassment got ready to engulf him.

"It's an off-menu dessert item," he said quickly. "If you don't like it—"

"Star apples," she said softly.

His heart ceased entirely.

She looked up at him, a disbelieving, wondrous happiness in her eyes.

"How did you know? Star apples are my favorite! That is what you call them, right? Because of how the seeds make a star in the center?" She took a quick nibble, followed by a squeal. "Oh my god, pink ladies? And you even got the peanut butter and the cinnamon and sugar—"

His knees went weak. The back counter caught him. Bottles and glasses rattled and clinked.

Her eyes went wide. "Meliodas!?"

He slid down, a high ringing setting off in his ears. A sharp silence echoed across the bar, followed by an uprush of questioning noise.

Elizabeth stood up.

"Meliodas! What's wrong?"

He opened his mouth to answer, to end the horrible scene he was making, but nothing came out. He hadn't the breath to answer.

"You're white! Ban! Ban!"

The sharp-eyed cook was already there, shaking his shoulder. "Captain! What's going on! Can you hear me?"

A great ball of energy, hot and wild, pushed up against his lungs. Knowing there was no way he could hold it back, he pushed on that practiced smile, that easy, fake plastic thing, and pushed himself to his feet. He gave an excuse, one he knew would work, one he didn't even hear, and went through the door to the kitchen, not too fast and not too slow. He sped up in the kitchen, a flash of demon strength, through the door and zipped an entire mile away in the means of only a breath—so quick no mortal or immortal would have seen him.

Then the wailing sob overtook him. It tore at his lungs, more a scream than anything else.

Just as quickly as it came out, he swallowed it, swore, and raced back. What the hell was he doing wasting a single second away from her?

Ban and she were waiting in stunned stupor, just as he had left them. He rushed towards her, restraining himself just enough to only take her hand.

"Elizabeth," Sweet, sweet music—at long last. "Let's go get some dinner. My treat."

She blinked. But then that same soft smile spread across her face and she let out a slightly confused little giggle.

"Alright."


	14. Philosophy Mixed with Truth

_In another time..._

He woke up as sudden as a match being struck. He lay on his back on the cold stone floor, his head cradled in her lap. The view of the ceiling was obstructed by curtains of metallic, silver hair and sky blue eyes.

"Meliodas?"

An electric trill ran up his back and he barely missed mashing his skull against hers from sitting up so fast. Frantic, he scrambled to the farthest corner of the room, mind too panicked to form any coherent thought.

"Stay away from me!"

She flinched. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I just—"

"Touch me again and you're dead—no, you are dead. I'm going to kill you, I'm going to plaster your brain to the wall and tear your limbs apart!"

The strangle-winged girl scuttled back to the wall, paling so quickly she turned gray as death.

Even so, he didn't move. His body trembled against the stone as though glued to it. He didn't even dare to breathe.

And for the first time, he wondered just what the hell had happened. Not that any answers came from his screaming brain.

"I-I just wanted to heal y-y-your wounds," she stuttered, shaking just as hard as him, if not worse. "And it looked like it worked at least in that regards. If I had known it would hurt…"

But that was just the thing, he realized with a sudden bang: it hadn't hurt. Not at all.

And that was the problem.

Something clicked in his head.

"That's what your healing is," he said, breathless. "It's light. Just pure, unadulterated light. Power in it's purest form."

"Pardon?" she clutched her hands to her chin.

Struggling to bring back together his shaken mind, his thoughts babbled out like a brook. "Energy and matter are interchangeable. Healing is based off the body's level of energy, both to transport materials and to make up the materials themselves. With an infinite amount of energy you get a self-sustaining, indestructible body. You're healing is high levels of energy transfer. Since you're temperature is just—" he snapped his jaw closed, finally catching up. Heat flushed across his neck. "Hell, you're…you're a monster. Look what you've done to me. I'm going to kill you."

But still, he didn't move. Neither did she. Not that there would be anywhere she could go. This was the realm of demons, and he its prince.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He stared at her, hard. He really did want her dead. Yet the bloodlust left his body cold, and it was his body, he knew, that was reluctant. Such euphoria shouldn't exist. His muscles trembled at the mere memory—the memory of relief.

This was also why beings of higher light avoided those of lower light. Having a body adjusted to lower levels of energy, anything higher…was torture.

Growling, he tore himself from the wall and stomped towards her. Just as his foot landed within striking distance, a bullet of fur zipped from about her and attached to his shin via dozens of miniscule claws. The shrill squeak was the extent of the tiny kitten's capability of a threatening yowl. He stared at it, more surprised at being attacked by something so small after nothing had dared to attack him over several millennia. Snorting, he reached down, just to have the next surprisingly weak thing in the room snatch at his wrist with her small, white hands.

"No. Please no," she gasped.

The girl was terrified. And yet she would rush her death to defend a baby rat?

Well, it wouldn't be in him to deny that wish. So he pulled back his hand, ready to break her body apart with one fatal slap. She turned her head, bracing herself.

He leaned in for the swing…his hand wouldn't move, frozen in mid-air. He tried several more times to swing it down, staring down her soft, weak mortal body barely covered by the thin silk dress he had given her, the scarlet ribbon about her neck the only shock of color on her.

A memory of cedar wood drifted across his mind, along with that flash of floral musk he had gotten in that moment her light had encompassed him. The smell brought with it the flood of alien emotions, soaked with stomach turning want and weakness.

_Kill it!_

He screwed up his eyes, biting his lip so hard it bled.

When his hand finally came down, it wasn't upon her, but the handle to his door. The bolts of the hinges richoeted off the walls along with fragments of wood. Stones cracked beneath as he stomped out. Pent up need for destruction snapped out about him, shattering the crystals that lit the hall and cracked mortar and stone alike. A pair of servants around the corner cried out in alarm and ran for it. Within moments both his brothers, Estrossa and Zeldris, blocked him off on route to exiting the castle.

"Melodis," Estrossa started, then back tracked as tendrils of black flame cracked out like a whip where he had been a moment before. He cussed.

Zeldris kept going. "Brother, what happened?"

Meliodas threw him aside with a blunt whack of his forearm, sending him through the hard wall to his left. He tromped through the commencing dust with a thunderous snarl. With an impatient shove, he tore his darkness forward, piercing it through the remaining stonework between him and the outside, which he dug his fingers in mentally and tore apart. Boulders and great planes of floorwork came raining down—and he was free, climbing up and up on shadow lanced wings.

Estrossa was overcome by the rubble. Zeldris, on the other hand, climbed up just behind him. Meliodas sensed his presence all across the burning-frost of the upper atmosphere, though he kept his distance.

A day passed liked that, with Meliodas beating out the excess energy within him through his wings. The force of the wind from his speed would have been enough to tear the flesh off a lesser man, yet his bared teeth and dark eyes remained unperturbed. Only once he felt the remaining memory of relief, of agonizing pleasure, burn from his muscles from fatigue and his lanced skin did he slow and finally land on a distant shore of glass. The continuing tearing of his feet on the glass-shard beach brought him back in full, the pain familiar and comfortable. Acidic waves lapped just out of reach of his toes, beautiful in its deep, emerald blue. He breathed deep of the ammonia and chlorine smell, settling his rattled nerves.

Zeldris landed besides him, his tough red boots crunching the glass beneath them. They were still torn from their father's abuse, and blood still leaked out from half-healed tears across his calves and forearms. His eyes, however, gleamed out whole from a mask of dried blood.

"Your legs," he said after a slow minute. "They're healed already?"

Meliodas closed his eyes. If he couldn't kill her…Zeldris's body had no memory of the light in her hands…

He took a deep breath that stung all the way down like a burst of fresh winter air.

"I don't think I'll be able to go back to Earth for a while," he said.

He could all but see Zeldris's confused frown.

"Okay…? Like anyone cares?"

Meliodas 'hmmphed.' "Right. Ha."

"If I wasn't bored to death I wouldn't have even followed you. Been a while since I've been to beach."

Meliodas opened his eyes to view the glimmering shore. If one ignored the fact the water would dissolve your body and the shore would slice it up before hand, one would be impressed by the jewel-like beauty of the glittering sands and brilliantly clear, bright water. Then, the dark-brown haze above it all also ruined it. Their world's sun was a dying one, and their atmosphere unforgiving to its light.

He clutched his fists.

_Just tell him. Tell him to go back and kill her. He doesn't have anything better to do._

But it wouldn't even come out!

"What happened? And don't tell me nothing, you almost murdered Estrossa."

Why didn't that sound like a compliment.

Sighing, he turned around and did what demons did best.

He lied.

"I was trying a new concoction to infuse the body with more energy, speed up the healing so I could walk straight. Had more oomph than I would have liked. Based off my study of star making."

"Ho, and you just drank it like that?"

Meliodas smiled. "And miss out on something new?"

New. Elizabeth was definitely that.

Zeldris let out a frustrated puff. "I can't believe I flew all the way for that."

The oddity of that sentence struck him. "Why did you follow me?" It wasn't like Zeldris would actually care.

His brother gave him an unreadable look for a moment than gave him a crooked smile.

"Guess you're not the only one acting out of the ordinary, eh? At least I don't have to lie about some potion to cover it up." Zeldris turned and stretched out his wings. "Let me know when you feel like telling, eh? Especially if its something the king shouldn't hear."

And just as anti-climatically as he had come, Zeldris left, flapping as lazy as a full seagull.

Meliodas watched him go until he disappeared off the horizon, letting the glass sand dig deeper and deeper into his feet.

She was waiting for him when he finally returned, either hours or days later, it was impossible to tell in this dim realm. The kitten was still a rat of a thing, so it couldn't have been too long. Even as he thought that, he found how peculiar it was to be basing his sense of time on such a thing as the growth of a kitten.

"Have you been getting food?" he found himself asking with little thought. Another strange thing. That he would care. Then again, starved corpses were a particular eyesore. Bony, dry, hairy things that they were. Weird that humans grew more hair when food-deprived. You'd think the body wouldn't have anything to spare.

She nodded, glancing at the transmitter ruby on the wall. So she had at least figured that much out.

The kitten watched him from underneath his bed, so still it could've been a figurine.

"Last time you bathed?"

She flinched. "It's…it's been a few days? I think." She glanced to the window, where the ambiguous gray light filtered in.

He nodded. Tired. At the same time, the core of him was a kind of steady wired. They, after all, didn't necessarily need sleep. Sleep just offered a break from the monotony of conscious thought.

He sighed. Why was he even bothering with this wench? And why was he finding it so hard to move from in front of his doorway? It wasn't like she was going to use her freakish power on him, unless she felt like dying.

"You feel like dying?"

She scrunched her folded hands to herself, like a frightened squirrel. "No."

"Just checking," he rubbed the back of his head. Hard.

Well. He had wanted stimulation. If he was going to figure out anything, though, bathing was in order. No way was he going to closely examine her with that mortal stench filling up his nostrils.

Fortunately, the tub had been left in its place all that time, and the magic was still in place to fill it, so he did so. This time when he ordered her to strip, she did so without fighting it, though she didn't meet his eye when she stood naked and vulnerable, all white hair and ivory skin, the red ribbon about her neck like a line of blood. A part of him admired the gentle curves and long legs, but on the level of art. Their bodies were modeled after the Creator's, after all, and therefore modeled after supreme beauty and power.

Still too skinny.

He pointed to the enormous copper tub of water and she immediately stepped in. The next thing he knew, he was lathering up soap and a rag and stepping to her head. He stopped instantly.

What the hell…had he actually been planning on cleaning her himself?

After a second of bitter confusion, he decided he was done thinking and just dug his fingers into her hair, suds and all. She jumped horribly and made a very amusing squawking noise, but otherwise held still and let him scrub her head, neck, shoulders, arms—even her pits.

Like washing a pet dog he thought, even has he washed around the red ribbon that marked her as his. Like a collar. He told himself he was probably doing this just to make sure she was sufficiently clean, like any good pet owner would do.

"Stand up," he said.

She hesitated for only a second before standing, bubbles and clear water coursing down her breasts and thighs.

A strange quiver took place behind his naval.

He paid it no mind. He didn't care to know. Instead, he set to work scrubbing what had been underwater, watching as his rag turned the ivory to pink. There was a good chance he was scrubbing to hard, but she hadn't said anything and the skin was still there and fine, so whatever.

When he went to scrub between her legs, she a wavering little yip.

"Please," she squeaked. "Let me?"

"Fine," he slapped the rag on the edge of the tub and turned. "I don't care as long as it's clean."

And he didn't care. Genitals on any sex were particularly nasty. Ooze and nasty smells and weird, wrinkly bits.

He flopped onto his bed to wait her out. Somehow, through the gentle swishing noises, he must have nodded off, for the next thing he knew he was waking up to that damn kitten hissing at him from the corner of the bed farthest from him. He glared and the little creature scuttled off. He must not have been asleep for long, but it was hard to tell if her hair was wet anymore with how well it imitated silver metal. She had curled up on the windowsill, arms around her knees and blue eyes watching him from over her elbow.

"Can…can I ask you a question?" she asked when their eyes met.

He grunted. She took that as a yes.

"Why do demons want to destroy men? And, with the amount of power you have, why won't you just do it?"

"That's a whole story I don't have the energy to tell. As for the second, there is a balance of powers, and with each estate granted to a being founded from Intelligence that being gains more power." He sighed and scratch his head roughly. "While the power of us demons is flashy and can affect the physical world humans can perceive, the human soul is in a state of transition allotted to them by the Creator, allowing them to dwell in an estate of higher power. Got to have somewhere to fall in order to fall in the first place, and where we are is 'fallen.' Because of that, in order for us to gain power over their estate, they must choose to give us that power. 'Course, they give up that power completely if they should become one of us."

She blinked. "Oh…"

He gave her a bland look. "You didn't get any of that, did you?"

"I'm sorry…"

"Suffice it to say I can kill you in a blink of an eye." He allowed himself a vicious smirk. "And I can't harm your soul unless you let me…and it's good that you think that."

"Huh?"

He just smiled. That's right, demons allowed mortals to grow attached to that truth. All the better to lower their guard and blur the lines between their agency and coercion.

Gesturing to her to follow, he left his hallway, ignoring the stares a serving girl gave them as she passed. Behind them he could hear the quiet slap of her bare feet on the stone floors.

"So…you hate humans because they, um, have—forgive me if I'm wrong—"

"I don't forgive."

She hesitated, but pushed on. "You hate them because they have more power than you?"

"They have more light," he said tersely, shooting her a flat glare. "Not more power."

"But you just said—"

"I gave you the textbook answer. Reality is different. Truth is transient."

"Doesn't that kind of make it, um…not truth?"

He rolled his eyes, finding himself amused, and that pleased him. "Well, lookie at the pet. Getting all philosophical. Keep going. Philosophy is the best kind of comedy."

"Comedy?"

"Oh yes. A construct of men that lets them feel extraordinarily smart by using big words to argue that everyone's asses smell like flowers. If you ever want to muddle so called truth, just throw in a bit of that and watch them flail. I've destroyed entire countries with a well placed philosophy mixed with just enough of truth to make it seem deep." He cackled. "Soooo funny."

"Then truth isn't so transient?"

He groaned. "I take that back. You're just an idiot, aren't you? Don't you have ears?"

"I'm sorry…"

"Whatever."

And he was bored again.

They came to his tower office, where he directed her to a table near the fireplace, which filled with maroon flames at a snap of his fingers. Red and orange spurted through as the oxygen in the room combusted.

"Lay yourself out. Come on. There's a good girl."

At least she had enough brains to be nervous as she laid herself out on the plain wood.

Fetching an Urminary, a thick round eyeglass of sorts connected to a series of gold wiring that connected to a breastplate which reached over one shoulder to touch the base of his neck, he drew near to her and pulled the eyeglass to his right eye. The first thing he caught was the trembling of her pale fingers. She flinched hard when he pulled up her arm with the very tip of his fingertips.

"Sir, could I be on my stomach? My wings…"

"Suit yourself," he dropped her arm.

Once she had turned, he took hold of one of her bandaged, mangled chicken wings, earning a squawk of pain from her, which he ignored. He pushed out his senses, twisted the eyeglass, and peered through the lines of light the white became.

Honeycomb bone structure, he mentally noted. Though the rest of her skeletal structure is more akin to a land mammal. Flight should be impossible. Her back doesn't have enough surface area for wings large enough to lift that much weight, given her wings even plan on growing.

"When did your wings start growing?" he asked.

"When I was twelve, I think. Um, sir—"

"Call me what you want, but if I hear another um I'm slitting your throat." He almost smiled at the tiny squeak she made.

"S-s-sir, why—why did my healing hurt you? I swear, I only meant to help—"

"And that there is why."

"Huh?"

He sighed again, even as he dropped her wing and twisted the eyeglass back out. "What happens to your eyes when he leave a pitch back cave into daylight?"

"It hurts?"

"Bravo."

"So does that—does that mean you're so deprived of help, help hurts?"

"'Help' is not the correct term. It's completely relative to the intention of the subject. 'Light' is more accurate. Your healing is a transference of light." He snapped the eyeglass to his other eye, splitting it in two in the process to give him fill vision on the image of her organs, displayed in a backdrop of her visceral cavities. "Light. Power. Energy. It's all the same. My body is use to functioning on such a low level of light, being rather efficient, that you overran it."

"Wow. You're really smart."

That gave him pause. Smart? Well, that was the natural result of having an immortal mind, surely. He certainly wasn't idiotic. He'd seen enough of that to be certain. But no one had ever called him smart.

It sent a shock of warmth to his gut, which alarmed him.

"Are you using your power again?" his hand tightened on her forearm, preparing to toss her.

She winced. "N-no! I swear!"

He frowned. There was no lie in those eyes. If there was anything he, prince of demons, knew well, it was a lie.

Thus, he filed this strange sensation for later study and continued to look deeper, zooming in till he could see the layer of tissue and all the cells which comprised it. Her liver was particularly healthy. Her kidneys, especially the right (the natural weaker in the normally formed human), looked to be strained a bit. A symptom of lowered blood pressure from malnourishment, perhaps. It didn't tell him anything other than that. Nothing to say they were any different from a normal mortal.

He zoomed down to the cells, and instantly picked out the larger than normal mitochondria. He smiled and made another mental note.

After another measureless space of time, with him pulling aside limbs to focus on whatever parts, she spoke up again.

"What are you looking for?"

"Anomalies," he said. "You're a freak of nature."

Not like she could argue with that.

"I never took demons to be scholars."

"Knowledge is power," he stopped himself before saying 'and we are damned from growth.' Why was he telling her so much anyways? Not that it matter. She'd be dead eventually anyways.

Somehow, that made him a little uncomfortable.

He pushed that aside. Mitochondria. That's what he wanted. More limbs, more like, more energy, more power, and Mitochondria were the power houses of the cells. Made sense. But why? How did it compare to a celestial body?

Not like a being in any higher realm would have anything to do with him, let alone be part of his projects.

After finding nothing else more, boredom started to itch at him. A hunger for speed, action, some form of entertainment, gnawed at him.

Perhaps he could go down and see how his curse was progressing in the village who had given him this girl.

"What's your name again?" he asked, not really interested.

"Elizabeth."

He 'hmmed' and pushed up the eyeglass and took a brief, more cursory examination of her cuticles and feet. Every hair on her body was just as silver as her hair.

"What's up with this hair?" he asked, putting the eyeglass back down. How could he have forgotten?

He hardly heard her answer. For no sooner had he brought down the eyeglass that it filled with crystalline light, momentarily blinding him. Cursing, he swiped it off his head, nearly destroying the Urminary.

She sat up. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Why are you even asking?" He squinted through the pain at her look of concern. Another strange prick of warmth trickled through him. "Even if I weren't your captor and inevitable executioner, I'm an immortal, all powerful demon. You really are stupid, aren't you?"

He expected her to be offended or hurt. For her face to scrunch up and her eyes to darken.

What he didn't expect was a smile that softened her eyes till the way she looked at him was almost, dare he say, tender.

The warmth engulfed him. Burned him.

But, somehow, it wasn't the same as the torturing light of her power. It was every bit as gentle as the smile that caused it.

His knees trembled.

"What are you?" he hissed, feeling his claws lengthen to strike her down where she sat, even as his arms refused to move.

The smile fell away as she cocked her head. "I already told you all I know."

And, of course, those blue eyes were guileless.

He ran a hand down his face and found that too was trembling.

Sleep. Sleep sounded nice.

"We're done for now," he pushed out, fighting to stop the quaking from spreading to the rest of his body. "We're going back now. Bed."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Oh, shut up."

And with that, he went back to his room and went unconscious almost the moment his head hit his pillow, not caring what she did with herself in the meantime.


	15. A Matter of Existence

**Author's Note: this story is taking the longest out of anything I've written before to do. Usually, I just speed write the first draft like an insane person-all there, right then, vomit. Well, at least it's still coming, so there's that. I'm sorry for the unorthodox updates. I'm just getting back into the swing of writing after having my baby. X.x Please. Enjoy.**

8

It was nothing like how they had first met, back when he lived beneath a scarlet sky, and he loved it. She laughed at his jokes, and her eyes lit up at everything he thought they would—like how he could lift her above his head with ease, jump into the sky, and take her flying. She all but shrieked with delight when, after dinner, he drove her up to the hills outside the city and, rather than pulling moves on her, pulled her up into the glowing twilight above the sparkling city. It was the first time in years he had let his wings free, and he almost expected her own pearly whites to spread out and join his. But even when they didn't, he just took it as more excuse to hold her close and breathe in the scent that had been behind the cedar scented ribbon.

"Meliodas!" she cried above the wind rushing past them. "You're amazing!"

"Only because I'm trying to show off!" he cried back, his cheeks hurting from the force of his smiles—the real ones. "Is it working?"

"What?"

"Do you like me?"

When her mouth dropped and her eyes widened, he swooped down and broke the air against the asphalt next to his truck, her warm shape held tight to his chest.

She pulled away, gliding her hands down her windswept silver hair, a jittery excitement in her eyes.

"You mean all this is because you want me to like you?" she gave a cock to her head with a peculiar half-sided grin—his heart leaped at the sight! He knew that look! "Silly, of course I like you. But if you keep getting better, I'll have no chance at all."

He ducked his head closer, enough to touch her lips with his breath. "No chance at what?"

Her cheeks were flushed. Her blue eyes shivered, just as they had then. "Of getting you to like me. I mean, I—"

It would have been against the laws of physics and nature to not kiss her then. His arms trembled from the effort to not crush her in his fervor, though all strength left them completely at the shock when she kissed back, including a little tongue to swipe along the corner of his mouth.

Some more intelligent part of his brain, a part that had ruled him for far too long, screamed that he should slow down and think about this, but the uprush, the adrenaline, the familiar apple tang of her shot him up too high, too fast, and the next thing he knew she was beneath him in the bed of his truck. Her hands had tangled up in his hair and his own were busy mapping out the curves of her body.

But, inevitably, and because of the depth of his emotions for her, he forced himself back.

"That's as far as I go, Liz," he breathed. "I'm not about to take advantage of you. You're too important for that, and you don't know me enough yet."

The heated glaze which she looked through at him made him shiver.

"You don't know me either," she said.

He just gave her a crooked smirk at that. _Little did she know…_but he already knew the can of worms that would cause her if he told her she was essentially his dead lover reincarnated. She might think he didn't love her and was just projecting on her. That could not be so. Not while Elizabeth was warm and vulnerable in his arms. The protective instinct of a demon rivaled that of dragons. Why else would their king be called dragon and serpent?

Still, with a few last nuzzles and whispered endearments, she reluctantly loaded back into his truck with him and they headed off down the road. As they talked, she was soon surprised by how well he did know her (all while he delighted in the fact that he could possibly be right), though he attributed it to his paranormal capabilities rather than the truth.

"What are you, anyway?" she asked.

Ah, the moment of truth. "Do you really care to know?"

"I just made out with you on the back of your truck, yeah, I care to know."

He didn't quite know how those two connected, but he went with it. "I'm a demon."

This gave her pause enough to make him wonder if he had just gotten too caught up in his ecstasy and made a horrible mistake. "What? Like…demons demons? Exorcisms and stuff?"

"I assure you, this is my body and mine alone. An exorcism will do nothing to me," he thought on it for a moment, wondering how he could fix this before she started connecting him with horror films…though that would have been cute compared to the things he got up to in his previous life. "What you know as demons are disembodied spirits that are jealous of those with bodies. You won't find anyone else like me on this planet. I'm unique. By all intents and purposes, I shouldn't be here, but…" he hesitated. He had only hinted upon this with Ban, but had never before told anyone. But this had been a night of wonders, and nothing could dissuade him now from believing this was his Elizabeth. "But the one you know as God gave me a second chance on this plain…in a way."

"In a way?" she asked.

When he found only curiosity and maybe a hint of that same elation he had seen while they flew over the city, he pushed on passed another boundary. "I'm still in the body of my final judgment. When you receive your final judgment, you go to the world which your body is best suited for. Usually, I wouldn't be allowed here with the amount of…it's a higher glory than where my body is supposed to go, but I…" he looked out on the road, suddenly fascinated by how the yellow median line flickered underneath his truck.

"You what?"

But he didn't know what else to say without admitting how crucial a role she had played in his life, or how falling in love with her had wrought a change unheard of in his soul that allowed him to handle a level of light he hadn't been able to before.

"Someone…helped me handle more light than before, and it changed me." He glanced to her, hoping the swell of tenderness in his chest wouldn't give away who that someone was. "And the Creator—or God—He told me that if I could continue to take on more light, and handle it, I could…I could eventually make it up to where they were."

She cocked her head, a little frown of confusion. "But…final judgment, when do you get that?"

"It varies on the person and the world they're from," he said. "The details would take days to explain, but the point is that death is a major marker of that. Mortality is a unique and pliable state, and it's the state where everyone drifts towards the degree of light and power they are most suited for. Once they're done with the mortal phase, that's it. Because, like anything, once it's done changing into its final form, it's done. Only a few continue on growing, and it's those that become Creators as well."

He took a chance to sneak a glance at her from the road and found, for a lack of a better description, that her mind looked thoroughly blown.

"Sorry, is that a bit too much?" he asked. A deep-seated anxiety had vibrated up from his gut sometime in the middle of his explanation. This had to be too much too soon.

She blinked. Pursed her lips. Then her eyes widened again.

"Wait—you've seen God?!"

That made him laugh.

"Hell no!" he cried. "That would destroy me! Haven't you been listening? Our bodies—and anything, really-can only handle so much light—light is just another term for energy. Energy is heat, light, kinetic movement, gravity, just as the sun has more light than the Earth, so does the Creator's body have more light than mine. Being in his presence would turn me to less than dust sooner than you could blink. No, a messenger was sent. You can't miss them. They're like lightning."

"A person of…lightning."

"Yep."

"…like an angel?"

"More or less." And he felt another wave of fondness rush over him as he remembered her as she truly was, vibrant with wings of white light beyond any white he had ever seen.

"And since you were able to…take on more light because of—how did someone help you to do that? Did they find a potion or something that made your body more absorbent or something?"

"Elizabeth, can I just say how phenomenally you're taking all this?"

She flicked a strand of silver hair. "Oh, trust me, I'll be rocking back and forth in my shower later." She paused, and something flashed across her eyes that he couldn't decipher—which was saying something, as he had been reading people for an awfully long time.

Or, perhaps, it was something his mind hadn't wanted to read, said that annoyingly intelligent and logical part of him.

He waved if off.

"I…can't really explain it myself. And, to be honest, I don't think I'm ready to tell you about that yet. That okay?"

She nodded quickly, like an overly eager child. "Oh, yes, of course. We have time."

He all but purred at that statement. Yes. Time. All the time.

After a minute or so, something else had struck her though.

"Wait, you're not mortal?"

He clicked his fingers. "Bingo."

"You're immortal?!"

"Unfortunately."

She somehow skimmed over that part—which only for a fraction of a moment gave him pause. Elizabeth, as he remembered, wouldn't have—but this is modern Elizabeth, one who lived in a world that didn't believe in immortal beings whatsoever. Heck, they still thought their God was some ephemeral being of spirit and yet not spirit that existed in their hearts and yet didn't.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Now, that's just rude to ask a lady her age," he said with a wink. "Don't you think you've had enough shockers for the evening? Flying, demons, gods, immortality. I kind of like your brain the way it is and not imploded."

She seemed to deflate a little bit. "Oh…sorry, should we talk about more normal things? Wait, I should take a turn, shouldn't I? Oh, um…but you seem to know so much already, what don't you know?"

"I only know basics about your tastes and personality, nothing about your actual life," that little lie about having some sort of psychic powers would come to bite him in the butt later, he just knew it. "Tell me about your family."

She did so, going in about a loving father who had doted on them since the death of their mother when Elizabeth had only been five. She had two sisters, one which was married and one that was in a weird sort of dating but not really romantic relationship with a huge MMA fighter, and a little nephew or niece on the way.

"I'm so excited, I love babies," she said. "Don't you?"

For the first time that night, a line of cold ran through his gut.

But he gave her that easy smile. "I like them well enough. They're more fun once they can walk and talk though."

Her bright eyes watched him, that unnamable something going through them once more, too quick for him to name.

The muscles in his back clenched. She couldn't already know he couldn't…?

But before he could really get worried, she was off again, talking about what they did for a living and how Elizabeth had been the only one who had chosen a career her father had agreed with.

Strangely enough, despite the dream come true the entire evening had been, with enough glorious moments to last him another few hundred years, the muscles in his back didn't relax until he had snuffed out the last bit of light in his room for the night.


End file.
